Sinchi: Downfall
by Caracal22
Summary: The Shadow Broker is still missing and the galaxy is pushed to the brink of a new conflict. Spectre Ashley Williams is racing against time to save Liara. James Vega finds himself in much hotter water than anticipated. And what will Councillor Tali'Zorah and Samantha Traynor recover from Liara's abandoned compound? Part two of the Sinchi trilogy. Vega/Ash/? Liara/Traynor, Wrex/?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Disclaimer of a general nature: characters (other than OCs) are not mine, I am just making them dance for other's enjoyment. __And with that, welcome to Sinchi: Downfall. This is Part Two of a three part trilogy which began with 22 Sinchi. Each will be written so it's possible to understand as a standalone but it will probably make much more sense if you've come from Part One. Thanks to HugoCogs and Owelpost for their feedback on this opening chapter. And thanks as ever for reading and reviewing!_

* * *

Vega had long ago learned to live with blood on his hands - it had just never been _Normandy _blood. There was a first time for everything. It didn't help that the threat of a major diplomatic incident snapped at his back, snarling hot, angry breaths down his neck. Vega's temples throbbed as if squeezed between a vise as the elevator doors opened onto the _SSV Istanbul's_ hangar bay. It was big enough to swallow an entire frigate.

Deep down, Vega was still a simple marine. He belonged shipside. He took pride on getting the job done. The political shit-slinging that came with the Admiral's bars could usually be avoided. Or delegated.

But not today. Didn't matter if Wrex knocked his block off. It was Vega's duty to take Grunt home.

The thought stiffened his spine; he squared his shoulders. Squinting, he could make out the plinth bearing Grunt's casket, wreathed in dim blue glow. He started towards it, polished boots clanging against the corrugated metal floor.

As he crossed the bay, he absorbed the whir of repair tools on a shuttle console, the clatter of armour pieces being stacked together, the unmistakable smoky tang of gun oil. If he let his eyes slip shut he could wish himself back twenty-some years; see the shotgun parts strewn across his weapons bench and hear Steve behind him, focused on something smart. He missed Steve. Missed the way Ash was when they first met, when their only thought had been the next mission. That - and sneaking around without being caught. He shook the memories away. Instead, he nodded tersely to the men surrounding him. His black expression meant they quickly left him alone.

The casket was ready for the _krantt _who would soon come aboard to bear Grunt away, draped in Urdnot colours of bright, chlorophyll green and ocean blue. A silver _Normandy _insignia was stitched into it alongside his clan insignia. _Goddamnit._ Vega removed his cap, ran his hand forward through his salt-and-pepper hair.

_You always were a crazy sonofabitch, Grunt._

He smoothed a palm along the side of the casket. He died victorious. A good death. Grunt always said he wanted to go out like Shepard. He got his wish in the end. Vega tried to thrust other thoughts aside. Krogans were not like humans but Vega had stripped Grunt's armour in preparation for this handover. One warrior for another. He had washed Grunt's body. It had been charred and broken; most of the skin on his face was burned away. He died in unimaginable pain.

_My fault. My responsibility. _

Vega's jaw clenched; his eyes unfocused. The hangar bay disappeared.

_But you did some good, cabron. Naya T'Soni's outta that hellhole. Miranda and Jack and Kaidan got out okay. Tali -_

He exhaled slowly.

_We laid hands on Liara's smokin' hot intel. Now Ash just has to lay hands on Liara. _

"...Sir?"

He hadn't noticed a compact, black-haired woman join him. She snapped to attention as he turned.

"Sorry, Sir. The Captain has requested you report to the bridge, Sir."

A disapproving rumble started in his throat; he clamped it down. Migs Takesada was a veteran of Sword. The man knew Vega intended to stay with Grunt until his _krantt _arrived, and he knew there was no time to lose. Something definitely smelt off.

He strode behind the officer back toward the elevator, rolling his shoulders. She gave no information, nor made any effort to humour him. A nervous prickle ran down from the base of his neck. They shot from the bowels to the brain of the ship in under a minute, emerging into a cramped area lit only by console displays. The bridge's wraparound viewport was already shuttered tight in anticipation of their imminent jump, but holosensors conjured a ghostly vision of the relay beyond the hull. They were close - no more than a couple thousand klicks away.

Almost at the point of no return.

Vega's discomfort rose. He belonged below decks - not with smartass flyboys on the bridge. He waved away the formalities, called out to Takesada. The captain was a tall, neatly-pressed man with a quiet voice. They could not have been less alike but Vega liked him.

"We have a problem?"

"Could do, Admiral." He gestured to the young drell standing next to him. "Lieutenant Raikou has maintained close contact with CDEM since we cast off from Quilla. Lieutenant, report."

Raikou's nicitating eyelids flickered rapidly. The youth was nervous. "Sir, as you will be aware our jump slot is next. We are scheduled to rendezvous with the _Khovod _outside relay orbit in ninety minutes. Twenty minutes ago we lost all contact with Aralakh."

An icy grip squeezed Vega's heart. _Shit. _

"Mechanical issue?" His eyes shifted to the hardware lining almost every surface.

"That is possible, but unlikely, Sir. It certainly is not a problem on our end. Widow, Mactare and Pelion relays all report the same. All communications traffic is down."

"What about actual ships?"

Raikou's voice was burred. His ink-black eyes reflected the glow of the consoles. "Physical traffic is almost non-existent through Aralakh, even in normal circumstances. However, Widow confirmed a Council aid freighter, the _Valley Forge_, has not arrived as anticipated. No issues detected with the workings of the relays, Sir. It just did not depart."

Thank you, Lieutenant." Raikou bowed slightly toward the Captain and turned back to his station. Migs caught Vega's eye, frowned. His eyes were hard.

"So. The question is not whether we have a problem, but the kind of problem we have, Admiral."

Tension set his legs to concrete where he stood. "Yeah. And whether dropping an Alliance cruiser into the situation would defuse it - or detonate it."

"Indeed." Migs beckoned Vega to take the seat next to his Captain's chair. He sat heavily. Concern was etched into the other man's face, but Takesada was a career man. He was on guard, at heightened alert. But not afraid.

"The _Istanbul _is straight out of drydock, Admiral. She's battle-ready. But -" at this Migs leaned into Vega - "she's only one ship."

"The CDEM is at full strength. Forty eight ships. We wouldn't be alone out there. Even if some band of crazies did decide to take them on."

"True," Migs replied. He looked away from Vega at the holo-projection of the relay in front of them, lighting the room in neon blue. It was difficult to read his expression, and Vega suspected he was glad of this. "The balance of probability suggests a short term technical problem. Short of sending a scout vessel into a potentially risky situation, we can't know."

They looked at one another for several long moments. Vega spoke first, decisively.

"Better we go, and we go now. That way we have surprise on our side. Wrex is vulnerable while he's aboard that ship. Easy to ambush."

He did not add: _and losing him would be a galactic-sized clusterfuck. _

Migs nodded crisply. "Aye, Sir." He straightened in his chair and began to bark out orders. The ship shuddered beneath Vega's feet as the drive core engaged, propelling them toward the relay. He swayed as he felt the engines catch and pull.

Matano was massive as they drew closer. Vega watched as consequences to a dozen different scenarios flew through his skull. Another decision made. Another decision Vega knew he was totally unqualified to make. Before, when he had been encouraged to talk this shit out, he had begged to change, and now he knew he never would. He resisted the urge to cross himself. He would spook the crew - those who knew what it meant, anyway. Instead, he prayed helplessly that he wouldn't send the ship and its crew to certain death.

An impassive female voice reverberated through overhead speakers. He balled clammy fists under his thighs to keep from rubbing them down the front of his uniform.

"_Relay jump in T-minus five... four... three..._"

- Vega squeezed his eyes shut -

"_...two...one._"

Every atom of Vega's body shrank against the flash. For a split second the light poured through to his core, and he was ten years younger, watching another flash as it tore up a whole world.

Then it was gone, and Migs was speaking already. He had unclipped and jumped to his feet in one fluid motion.

"Full stop. Blinds up."

The external shutters retracted back into the hull. As they peeled back, soft blue light from Aralakh's eezo core washed across the bridge. Everything seemed bathed in strong starlight.

The Captain's mouth fell open. Vega continued to fumble with the clasps on his own harness. He looked along Migs' line of sight. His eyes widened.

_Holy fucking Jesus. _

A swarm of angry ships surrounded the relay. They filled the viewport screen. Vega knew they extended in every direction around the cruiser.

His guts liquefied.

They hung silent and malevolent. There were so many that in places they clustered thick enough to block out the blackness of space around the Neutral Zone.

Dirtside hordes he could handle, but not this. Vega could not remember a force this size since Earth.

He tasted sour terror in his throat.

The peacekeeping ships of the CDEM hung in position with their backs against the relay, heavily armed but outnumbered. Vega spotted the freighter nestled between them. They had circled the wagons. Now they were waiting.

_Waiting for what?_

Vega's eyes strained over the view in front, breathing shallow. His balls were crushed someplace high in his chest.

_What the fuck? How the fuck did this happen?_

Vega did not want to think about the possible answers. He couldn't rip his eyes from the standoff.

As he continued to watch, Vega realised he was looking at a rag-tag flotilla of little boats, not an organised fleet. Most didn't look like they could carry crews of more than a dozen. Those that did were dilapidated hulks showing signs of hasty repair. None were new and most were obviously cast-offs. Vega spotted a handful of four-eyed batarian battleships, at least two decommissioned Turian destroyers, and an Asari corvette that had to be at least a hundred years old. All were obsolete. He stopped counting.

_That's why they're holding off. We're evenly matched._

With that, his lungs burst open. Dry, recycled cruiser air never tasted so good. Vega schooled his face into the same controlled expression as Migs wore. The only clue to his friend's shared relief was the grateful bob of his larynx.

"Is the _Khovod _in there?" he asked, voice sounding hollow inside his own head.

Raikou dragged his face back down to his terminal. "Scanning, Sir." A pause. "No. I can push sensors as far as Ruam, but - the Urdnot flagship is not in range, Sir."

_Hey, Vega. It's your lucky day. Or maybe not._

He stepped, hesitant, toward the viewport. The _Istanbul _had looped around, and now he could see both forces ranged against one another. The difference in scale made his blood run cold. The nebula of krogan ships nudged the border of the Neutral Zone as if blocked by a forcefield, but they would not enter.

Migs addressed Raikou again. "Lieutenant, hail the _Neith. _Get Captain Amarey on vidcom."

The drell's long hands began to fly over the console. Then - froze.

"Captain, I'm - I'm detecting an - object moving toward the relay at high speed - no, course has adjusted. It's heading straight - for us."

"Bearing?"

"Three-two-zero mark seven-zero. Range," Raikou studied the readings - "Fifty four million kilometers and closing. It's fast. Intercept in three minutes."

The view outside swam purple for a moment before resolving clear again as power diverted from the drive core to the shields.

"Is it a missile, Lieutenant?"

"I cannot tell at this distance. It has also been fired from behind the densest pocket of krogan ships, along the approach to Tuchanka, Sir."

"Whatever _it _is," Vega breathed, "doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that will punch a hole right through our hull."

"The projectile is unlikely to strike us, Sir. At its current speed, it is more likely to hit a krogan vessel."

Migs was watching the viewport intently, eyes narrowed. He jerked his arm up, pointed.

"Look - there. I can see it."

The object, a single pinprick of light, was streaking closer. At first, its path was straight, a shooting star; then, as it reached the densest thicket of krogan ships, it started to dart and weave between them, fast. Utterly precise. Like a firefly. Vega struggled to keep track of it unaided, but didn't have to strain for long. Raikou switched to a magnified visual.

The object had to be guided by an advanced VI. Sophisticated kit beyond the wildest dreams of most krogan. Excitement and hope pulled his lips apart. Not exactly a smile, but not a frown.

Migs' attention was drawn away from the eezo coloured fireball, toward its surroundings. "Vega, look at the ships. The krogan are training weapons on it."

Clanking external gun turrets and cannons were twisting slowly into position on several of the closest ships. They were packed together so close few dared to loose any shots. The object avoided these effortlessly. It raced closer with powerful grace.

Vega couldn't breathe. At the same time, his instincts yelled at him to protect the thing, stop it being hit. As usual, his mind trailed his subconscious.

_Wrex? No. Can't be._

It was close enough now to make out the shape of an object beneath the roaring plasma. Vega could make out a nosecone; a sinuously curved prow. The hairs on the back of his neck rose knowing it was bearing down on them at twenty thousand miles a second. There was no time.

"Hail it, Raikou," he called.

"Wh- ? Yessir." Then - "No response. But we're - incoming message. Patching through."

Vega and Migs scrambled to stand in front of the QEC transceiver disc. A holo of the most enormous krogan Vega had ever seen leapt into life in front of the viewport. More than twelve feet tall. It was obviously the leader of the flotilla. Vega had to stare up.

Bold slashing strokes were carved deep into his headcrest. Decorative. Intimidating. He clenched his muscles behind his back, muscles cording reflexively. The mountain addressed itself direct to him. His voice boomed.

"Leave. _Now_."

"We have business here." Vega's voice sounded reedy by comparison.

The krogan smiled. Each of his teeth were filed to sharp points. "No, human. You do not."

"Urdnot Wrex demanded our presence."

"It is no longer wanted." The krogan snorted. "He will no longer be demanding _anything_."

_Oh, shit._

Raikou interrupted. "Admiral, object returning our hail -"

A new voice rang out across the bridge, female. Also krogan.

"_- Get me Vega."_

Sweat beaded on his brow. He didn't take his eyes off the barbarian in front. He snarled.

"Vega here. State your business."

_"Prepare for docking. Now."_

His eyes still locked on the hulk. "Give me a reason."

Holo-krogan roared. "Opening that bay will be the last thing you do." To underline his point, every gun turret in range locked onto the _Istanbul. _ Raikou paled.

_Oh fuck. _

"_I'm with Wrex. Transmitting secure authorisation codes."_

Vega's omni lit orange. He glanced, briefly. They checked out.

"_Let me aboard."_

Her ship shone bright as a little sun, shooting through now through the clear space in the Neutral Zone. Raikou sounded shrill. "Collision in twenty seconds, Sir."

_Fuck fuck fuck. _Vega was rooted to the spot. He couldn't think.

Migs reacted. Slapping a button on his chair, he addressed the entire ship.

"Crew, max speed in T minus thirty seconds. Open docking bay D for the next twenty six seconds."

The krogan holo disappeared as scores of small ships opened up on the _Istanbul. _

When it was over, Vega looked at his hands. They were shaking.

* * *

She drifted, weightless. Opposites spilled together.

Night, day.

Light, dark.

Dreams, hallucination.

Liara slipped amongst them all, sometimes lucid, sometimes insensate. Neither bore any relation to whether she was conscious. She dreamed lucid and woke asleep.

She felt coolness first, seeping into her cheek. It soothed her skin, which was hot, and cracked. She flexed her neck, very slightly, to press more of her face against it. Wonderful.

She dimly remembered repeating this action later. No. Incorrect. Before, perhaps. This time was different. She became aware of her own shallow breaths, lapping in and out through her mouth. She pressed her lips together. Her lips brushed against the cool.

The cool was floor.

Now she knew she had experienced this before. Was she dreaming? Liara drifted, outside time, until inspiration struck. She sucked in her cool cheek and bit down.

Pain burst into her mouth.

That was significant. She pondered why. Pain meant awake. Awake meant real. Important, but why?

She shut eyes she had not realised hung open. Naya sprang into memory behind her closed lids. She knelt in front of her mother's body, beaming Shepard's smile. Liara's heart burst with joy. She radiated love through the meld, but none was reflected back. Her joy gave way to panic. Her eyes flew wide. Was Naya only a dream?

She refused to accept it. Naya was reality. Her only real thing. She was gone.

Or Liara was. This floor was dirty, and bitter-tasting, and she was seized by the violent conviction that being in contact with it was unbearable. Muscles spasmed and cramped in her arm and leg, jolting her further awake. She rolled with excruciating effort onto her back. Her ankles and wrists were tied. White hot pain glowed in her side, the tell-tell tale burn of a stab wound.

She hissed with pain, silenced abruptly when she heard steps. A shadow fell across her face.

_You let her come to, Livy. Stupid bitch. _

He drove a steel-capped toe into her side. If it had been the cut side the wound would have reopened. He knew that. As it was she nearly blacked out. She cried out, clung to consciousness like a liferaft.

There's more than one. Remember, she thought, as the faceless man dragged a hood over her head and jammed a hypo into her thigh.

Then, nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy - Quarian Councillor and Honorary Convenor of the Southern Continental Cluster - crouched speechless before a crusted lake of dried blood, crinkled and thin like crepe paper. The purple stain on the stone floor belonged to someone she had been close to, once. She knew her name and background, even now would be able to identify her across a room filled with strangers. But Tali privately admitted she didn't know the woman at all. Not anymore.

Liara T'Soni had retreated to this hole. For the first time since this upheaval began, Tali felt a drop of hot anger toward the person she once thought of as a sister-in-arms. She was selfish. A coward. She made countless attempts at contact, either directly or, later, via the Shadow Broker network. All slipped into a silent abyss even after Tali succeeded Zaal'Koris on the Council.

Liara had deserted them all and for years Tali believed she was dead. The truth was worse. She scuttled into this crevice, raked in the credits and usurped power she did not earn.

Tali peered down at the blood. Her stomach churned. The gore did not faze her but the flash-fire of her fury did. Her anger was quickly doused by sadness. Naya explained Liara's reaction. In similar circumstances, Tali might have done the same thing. Actually, she wouldn't. She could not have subsisted for so long alone. Tali settled on Rannoch after the war, living her perfect ever-after; sowing orchards, improving crop yields, building homes with her own hands. She created communities at Chalus, Kaaleh, Varavi, finding or pioneering the technology each settlement needed to survive. Eventually the curtain fell on that time and she was forced into accepting other duties. Politics. Leadership.

Liara might live six quarian lifetimes but Liara could never know that joy. The afterglow of that victory was gone forever. This was not a retreat. It was her cell.

Samantha was late. Tali heard the whining gears of the elevator from the far side of the room. On her way. Tali rose to her feet delicately, careful to maintain her balance. The idea of coming into contact with the blood on the floor kindled panicked disgust. Any pathogen must be long dead by this stage, but better safe than sorry. She cursed inwardly, wished she had retrieved a sheet from the basement to cover it up. Samantha insisted she was fine but she might not be. No time to fix it now.

She crossed to the elevator as the door opened. Samantha had bundled her helmet under one arm, was combing fingers through dampened clumps of her jet-black hair. She exited with clumsy steps, Tali stepping aside.

"Sorry I'm late. This armour feels positively medieval. Was it always this heavy?" She smiled nervously.

"You're lucky you're not wearing a softsuit. Though actually - that is probably what you are used to. Perhaps that would have been a better idea."

"Hey, I can handle it. Although this is going to chafe later."

Samantha tugged her gloves from her fingers one by one. Tali could see her eyes sweeping the walls. Floor to ceiling vid screens loomed black to the left and right. Wide stripes of gold and ochre rock, the colour of burned clay, banded the walls front and back. Portable spotlight strips threw light into every corner; the effect was soft, not bright. Shadows pooled in the corners and under workstations.

"Well, the architecture and decor is rather brutal. _Not _very homely." She was walking normally now, hands on hips. Her steps were narrow and tense. "I would have put up some pictures. I'm disappointed at the lack of a villainous armchair. And a -"

She froze. Her gaze had fallen onto the bloodstain. Her eyes widened, nostrils flared.

"Samantha, let's go down to the mainframe. Now. Okay?"

No response. The human was normally a deep caramel colour; even under the murky lights it was obvious that right now she wasn't.

"Traynor. Get a hold of yourself." Tali took her shoulder, shook her slightly. Nothing. She sighed.

_Keelah. Humans will be the death of me._

She drew her cowl back, reached for her helmet clasps. They released with a soft hiss and she pulled her helmet off carefully, reaching behind her head to disconnect her air lines. The woman's eyes strayed from the blood, back to Tali; relaxed. Samantha breathed. She avoided Tali's eyes as she peered into her face.

"I'm fine, Tali, really. Fine. Sorry. You put that thing back on."

"No point now," she murmured. "Come on. This way." She placed a hand between Samantha's shoulderblades and steered her towards the door on the far side of the room.

Colour returned to Samantha's cheeks. "Have you taken a look yet?"

"Eyes only. I need to get under the casing. I can't wait. The Shadow Broker operated one of the most sophisticated systems in the galaxy back on Hagalaz. Liara would not be outdone by a yahg."

Traynor nodded. "This place is a dataminer's paradise. I should be in seventh heaven. But the reality?" She looked around at a sagging, rusted cot and dingy sonic shower - "the tied accommodation is a complete turnoff."

"Will it be difficult to restore the Broker's systems? Assuming I can repair the hardware?"

"Depends. I suspect Liara needed Glyph to manage and filter her data. It sounds like he had become the controlling mind behind the operation." She drummed her fingernails against a package at her waist. "Some of my programmes should help, acting together. But it won't be the same."

"So if I could restore Glyph? Would that help?" Tali twinged.

"I doubt he would co-operate. Not unless you shackle him so tight he's left with the personality of a pocket calculator. Quite apart from his lack of sanity. You're the AI expert."

They started down the staircase. They left one island of light behind them, struck out for another, glow from the room beneath lapping at the foot of the steps.

Samantha's voice was low. "There's something sinister about this place. Say it's not just me."

"It's not just you."

Traynor pouted. "No, really. It feels as though we're being watched."

"Glyph was deactivated. There are no optics. Therefore no watcher, nothing watched. You're scaring yourself. You're starting to scare me."

"Sorry." They had reached the low-ceilinged, small room at the foot of the steps. It was lit by a single spotlight in the centre. The mainframe pillars surrounding them seemed to eat all the light without being lit. They loomed, black and silent. Tali's skin crawled but Samantha appeared unperturbed. She knelt to examine the nearest pillar.

"Let's see if there's anything I can help with before we take a crowbar or your shotgun to it. There are ways around tamperproof shells."

Tali smirked. "Thanks to you."

"Guilty. Though only for responsible government applications. You definitely count. I'm presuming that's why James sent for you. Oh, and the fact he was missing you."

"Don't be ridiculous." Tali was unintentionally terse, but Samantha was distracted, running her hands over surfaces.

"Looks good. No signs of damage."

"That's what I thought. Can you see anything else?"

Samantha stayed on her knees, activated a bright light on her omni. She found a circular cutout disc, no bigger than a nail, and slid it aside.

"Aha. I'll bet Glyph's mobile unit could jack via this. I can't guarantee it will work, especially if the units are powered down, but I have a cracker we could try."

The cracker itself was a small, black cylinder with a flanged end. As Traynor thumbed it into the port, it twisted and locked into place, red light blinking at its tip.

"Give it a few minutes and you should be in, Tali. While you're at it, I'll track down the backup power source."

"Really?"

"Really, Tali. I'm fine."

As the cracker lit green, Tali heard Samantha's steps echo away.

* * *

The new arrival was waiting in the _Istanbul's_ War Room. Travelling at this speed it was impossible to attack or be attacked. For now. Vega breathed a little easier as he traversed the ship, making his way to its core. Until they were forced to slow down, they were safe. A cruiser travelling at sub-FTL speeds burned through enough eezo to power an entire colony for months, but they had a few hours. Long enough to work something out. And size up their guest.

Vega paused at a security checkpoint marking the boundary between bulkheads, forcing his eyes open to accept the retinal scan. Most of Ash's spectre missions in the past couple years involved krogan somehow. Crushing rebellions; turning the tide of some crappy conflict on a backwater planet; assassination of militants. Vega had done his share of tours in the DMZ since the war. Ash simply knew krogan better.

_Ash_. _Oh God._ He stopped still. Last night exploded back into his mind, obliterated every conscious thought. Fire lit in his belly.

_Focus._

His thoughts turned to Ash because Ash would know how to deal with this situation better than he did. He needed to think, but his brain sloughed up nothing. Nothing useful, anyway.

Then, something. He turned to the private manning the station, jutted his chin out at the weapons locker behind them.

_Meeting a new krogan unarmed is crazy or dumb. Being armed shows respect._

He was handed a Carnifex, strapped the holster around his waist. It fit awkwardly over the dress uniform. The guard eyed Vega, bemused, when he thought his back was turned.

_A gun is good, machote. A blade is better._

When Vega stepped out of the station he wore the private's new knife tucked into his belt, under his jacket. It was hidden but obvious.

_Thanks, Ash._

The War Room was a few bulkheads further back. Vega caught some odd looks along the route, didn't care. He passed the fireteam standing to attention outside. Light glinted from the barrels of their assault rifles and pristine blue-black armour. This was no honour guard. Vega might need it.

He entered alone. The figure at the other end of the War Room turned as soon she heard the door slide open.

She was tall and slender for a female krogan, the pellucid green-cream colour of mushroom gills, with silver-grey markings along her neck. Unlike other females Vega had seen, she wore heavy armour, evidently custom made, and no head-dress. Traditionally this meant she was unmated and had no young, but with the armour Vega couldn't be sure. If he was right she was young, high status. Maybe both. Definitely high enough to avoid motherhood. When fertile females had been rare, during the genophage, they were easily hidden, protected - respected. Now all could bear young they were usually forced as soon as physically capable.

Which made their guest, now marching down the room toward Vega, unusual.

She had been stripped of all weapons bar the ceremonial blade at her hip. Her claw rested on its pommel. Watery, pale blue eyes looked him over, stopping to take in his gun and the shape of his own knife. The hilt was clearly visible beneath Vega's uniform.

"We are _wasting time _in this pleasure craft." She swept her arm out in the direction of the flotilla. Buried as they were at the centre of the ship, Vega was impressed by her bearings. "Tens of thousands have already landed on Tuchanka. More are arriving every hour. Turn the ship back - _now_."

Her voice rumbled. For one so baby-faced Vega was surprised it carried so much authority. She was already used to command. He crossed his arms.

"Not until you explain a couple things, _peligroso_. Like who the hell you are. And how you came by Wrex's encryption codes."

She narrowed her eyes at him, unrepentant. "I am Sedna, daughter of Nouha. Pupil Battlemaster and concubine to Urdnot Wrex."

"You look - young. Too young." Vega guessed she was around the same age as Kaidan; older than Jane.

"I am not here to listen to your stupid pronouncements, human." She burst forward, into Vega's space, voice raised. "Tarkan will be laying waste to Urdnot now while we flee."

Vega fought an instinct to protect his face, kept his hands lowered. Sedna drew closer until her eyes were inches from his. She was dominating him. Though his heart was banging in his chest he refused to back up. He brought his face closer, moved one hand to the butt of the gun. Ash dominated krogan twice this size without resorting to blows. He remembered, too late, that she wore a helmet when she did. But he didn't flinch.

The air electrified. He felt like it would crackle, snap.

"There's a squad waiting outside. You're just one krogan. A krogan I don't know."

She eased back, spoke through gritted teeth. _"Turn_. The _ship_. _Around_."

Vega bunched his muscles. Made himself bigger; spoke slowly.

"Where is Wrex? Why isn't he with you?"

The omnitool at her cuff pulsed and woke; she tapped into the War Room holo display. The outline of a colossal stepped pyramid, stacked platforms towering above a chaotic maze of surrounding buildings, rotated in the centre of the room.

"Rebel forces have already surrounded government headquarters at the Ziggurat." A white sphere pulsed at the centre of the pyramid; Wrex's position. The image zoomed back to show rebel units, pushing forward to the base.

"Wrex is trapped inside. It is only a matter of time before it is overrun. You know the consequences if he falls."

"So the flotilla out there - they're Goceks?"

Sedna glared, contemptuous. He got the impression she was trying not to sneer.

"The ships around the relay are a distraction. They are keeping Aralakh Command pinned to the relay while Tarkan does the real work. His main force is pouring warriors onto the surface and preparing for orbital bombardment. _At this moment_. We are wasting precious time."

He looked at the pyramid. "Wrex should be able to hold out in there for a while. Thick walls. Good place for a barricade."

"If Tarkan and Boyar cannot kill or capture Wrex alive, and soon, they'll turn Urdnot into a crater."

"And kill their own fighters?"

"Absolutely."

Vega knew those names from briefings held in smoky barracks rooms. The scarred giant in charge of the flotilla must be Boyar. A seasoned merc, older than old, like Wrex. Only more bloodthirsty. Vega remembered his filed teeth and his cheek twitched. Sedna told the truth.

_If that bastard's number two, I never want to run into number one._

She started to pace, taking angry steps along the bulkhead. Vega grimaced when she pounded a fist into the wall. She left a dent in the metal. He made his voice reasonable. Still strong.

"Sedna, you're smart. You must know the Alliance can't intervene without the Council's permission. There are sanctions. Rules. I can't just fly the _Istanbul _straight into orbit."

"And you are spineless, Vega." She quieted, withdrew, addressed herself quietly to the bulkhead. "Your name is whispered with horror on krogan worlds. I was ready to respect you. But now I see you that would be - misplaced."

Sedna fixed him with a baleful glare and Vega understood that this was not a simple dislike of humanity. She hated him.

His reply was soft. "Taking the _Istanbul _to Tuchanka would be suicide. I will not sacrifice all hands on this ship."

"You fought shoulder to shoulder with Wrex on Earth. You are despised by krogan, with good reason. But to him you are still clan. And yet you abandon him to the void." Sedna looked him straight in the eye. "Wrex believed you would help him."

Vega teetered on the edge of the abyss, gut twisting, beating heart in his mouth. He swallowed. Leaped.

"And I will."

* * *

Damn comedians gave her ship a berth on the wrong side of Gozu, the meanest, poorest district in Omega abutting the wealthiest. Cab drivers with any sense or experience avoided this part of the station like a disease; it was no-fly zone, riddled with blind turns and narrow alleys and full to the gunnels with filth.

So Ash walked.

The path to Afterlife involved a steep climb up so many steps she lost count, lungs and throat burning. She was physically at peak fitness; had to be, it was her job to be, she'd be dead not to be. That wasn't the problem. The air was so full of shit she could feel her eyes start to weep like someone had rubbed grit in them. Each time she hit a clearing felt to her lungs the way it did to loosen tight, pinching shoes. Ash found herself hauling her ass up the steps only to hang around on the flats, hands cupped over her nose and mouth. She wished she'd remembered a nasal filter.

The level sections were far worse than wheezing up the stairs. A bouquet of shit, piss, vomit and the warm, rank smell of rotting garbage soured the back of her throat. It would take her days before she adapted to screen out the foul stink. She saw women - some men - turning tricks, all sallow faces and sagging dugs. Vorcha fighting, bleeding, dead drunk and reeling on the floor. A street brawl between a deadbeat quarian and a human who robbed the dumb shit's expensive omni. His visor was cracked; in a dirty place like this he'd be delirious in hours. She saw a batarian boy, rags barely covering his brown bony behind; plaintive, begging. Most likely he was the lowliest badmash in some petty gang.

At least, she hoped so.

Ash looked at him for just too long and his eyes - all of them - swivelled across to her. Bottom pair, then top. They glittered. It unsettled her; her stomach knotted. The boy sized up her pricy armour and the heavy weapons, the dark hair tied back in a chignon, figured her for a soft target. Some kind of well-off merc. In a way, she was. He was there in a heartbeat, tugged at her hand. She quickened the pace. Lucky she had no pocket for the little bastard to pick. He was insistent, pulling now, grunting. Like she owed him. She couldn't look down now because if she did she would stop.

_I hate this place._

The chemical burn in her windpipe had begun to seep into her muscles when she reached the main drag. Afterlife was up ahead, and the air was cleaner, clearer. The miasma that crept into everything down below was absent up here. The sense of space, the mirage of a dark airy sky above her head after so long in the cramped pit beneath was dizzying. She cleared her throat, loosened the protective slime that had begun to coat it. She spat and the gob that hit the floor was black. Better.

A single, low note of anxiety struck up somewhere deep inside. She stopped.

_An Omega smash and grab is a walk in the park compared to facing that squid headed bitch._

Naya - peaceful, sleeping - broke the surface of her mind; the image pitched her forward. She upped the pace as she drew up to the entrance, ignoring security on the door. Ash wondered why patrons with the heavy weapons were the ones could waltz straight past the bouncers. Surely it should be the other way round. A few more paces and the second set of doors opened onto the main atrium, heaving with punters swathed in hellish orange light. The music swirled through her, beat deep and fast and chaotic. Like a fever dream.

Ash knew her way around. She shoulder-barged her way through the crowd, stepped over a fight between two hard-bitten rival mercs already gone to the floor. A yahg was standing door duty at the foot of the steps. With no krogan around yahg had become the criminal underworld's enforcers of choice, though keeping them in check was almost impossible.

Unless you were Aria.

She knew this guy. Name was Baka. Had a reputation for keen intelligence, but he was even better known for his casual, perverse talent for butchery. By human standards, yahg looked obese and faintly ridiculous bulging out of heavy armour. Baka did. But Ash wasn't laughing. She saw flecks of blue salarian blood across his red face.

"I'm here to see Aria."

"She expecting you?" His voice was so deep it almost melted below hearing into the bass.

"She knows I'm here." That was why the _Mariana _was parked in some dingy hole at the ass end of the station. "Tell her - Ashley Williams is here."

Recall dawned; she saw a flash of recognition. "You're that Spectre. What's your business?"

"Mind your beeswax, yahg." She growled.

Baka tensed. Then the fury on his face was gone and he was pressing his hand into the webbed crests on one side of his head, listening. His triangle mouth pulled taut. Ash felt queasy at his smile.

"She isn't here, Spectre. And don't bother coming back later."

_The lying bitch._

Ash laid a hand on the yahg's chest, stepped in close. "Course she's here. She's always here." She pushed but there was no give in Baka's trunk; none at all. Anger flared. "Let me past, Baka, you big -"

"Aria is not available."

"When, then? This isn't a goddamned _request_."

His breath was foul, smelled of rotting meat. It poured down onto her face and into her hair. He closed his fist around Ash's forearm and shoved her back, squeezed just enough to threaten hairline cracks in her armour.

"Not now. Not ever."

"For fuck's sake -"

He stepped back. His voice was chilled, satisfied.

"Get out of my face, Spectre, before I take it off. Move along."

She did.

_Damn bitch will pay._

As she slunk from the club, Ash felt a weight press down onto the back of her neck. Turned around.

Aria's gaze seared her. She was leaning on the glass enclosure of her sanctum, above Ash, forehead pressed against forearm. Languorous. Lethal.

Her eyes thinned to slits.


	3. Chapter 3

**First A/N:** Please be advised: mature content and themes in this chapter. Thank you to everyone following this story for continuing to read, review, and support.

* * *

_Jane's gone. Needs to cool her heels. Ash waits. She'll be fine. Too few people, too much pristine wilderness on Demeter to just disappear. _

_Afternoon melts into evening, hints at sunset. Shadows lengthen. The air is warm, pink-gold. She still isn't home. Worry worms into her chest. Ash pa_cks _deliberately, feigning calm, sickness building; before her control vanishes and she dashes for the hovercar._

_Ash tracks Jane's vehicle to a scenic clifftop. Far enough from the city to be quiet; close enough for notoriety. She's parked looking out at the valley. Trees and scrub blanket the floor, half a klick straight down. The fading light ignites lush foliage in a blaze of blood red and orange. Cloud-shadows stroke across the panorama, right to left._

_Jane isn't sightseeing._

_She taps Jane's windscreen. The face that jerks round is late-twenties; older. Close to his age. Even looks alike; fair hair, muscled torso, sun-kissed skin. Too far gone to stop. Jane planned this. The air is dragged from Ash's lungs. Acid revulsion sears through her. A breathless, muffled grunt: back the fuck off, lady._

_Her control almost snaps. She'll pump him full of lead._

_Ash knocks with her pistol muzzle. Three metallic chimes. Blondie hears the difference. Goes rigid. Turns slowly. Her lips are peeled back in a sick, murderous grimace. Ash speaks low. She's underage, pal. His eyes widen. He's seen the resemblance; same pout, same coffee-coloured eyes. Panicked hands scrabble for his pants, crumpled around his ankles. Jane smiles up sweetly at her mother. Her eyes mock._

_The guy gets gone and Ash slides into the passenger seat. She draws a blank: no clue what to do, how to heal this. Neither speak. The air is thick with the weight of unspoken words. You could have been killed. I was sick with worry. I made a mistake, baby. Do you hurt? What the hell were you thinking? How could you do this? Please try to understand._

_She wants to stay angry but she can't. Jane's still only a girl. Ash reaches for her but Jane recoils, won't look at her. Her words break Ash apart._

_You're the fucking whore, Mom._

_Ash sobs. Jane shifts to get out of her car; Ash does instead. She'll follow Jane home._

* * *

Sam followed her hand along the passage, eyes glowing amber in the murk. She was tracking the power cables back to their source, and at present they ran at waist level behind the wall. They glowed like tracks of hot metal. A highly deceptive effect in low light, when surroundings were difficult to see; she reflexively traced the scar she got under her chin from a trip several years back. She was eager to move quickly but she forced herself to slow, edging carefully down the final flight of steps.

_This must be the place, then. Breathe._

She couldn't. An acrid smell like burnt battery acid, the telltale odour of an electrical fire, hit her nostrils. And there was something else. She pushed all speculation from her mind. Deep down, she knew.

A cold prickle started from the back of her legs, jolted up her spine.

_Nonsense. Glyph's aboard the Turing. Stop it._

When she reached the bottom, it was fully dark. She activated her flashlight. The cables tracked under the floor now, through a door forced open and locked ajar. The blackness was soft and deep.

This felt like trespass. She could hear the rapid scudding of her heart.

Each step further she took was heavy, like wading deeper into water. She was past the door now. Her voice died in her throat when she tried speaking activation, though of course it would not have worked anyway with the systems scrambled. She found a console on the the side of the door, punched buttons; heaved a tremendous sigh of relief when the lights came up.

Sam tucked her hair back behind her ears nervously as she looked around.

_Well, well. The elusive Liara's lair. Home sweet home._

The layout was as she'd been briefed. The girl's room was directly ahead of her, beyond a seating area. Thankfully, the cables didn't run anywhere near. A kitchen, table and chairs were ahead and to the right. Two shotguns and a submachine gun were strewn incongruously on a counter, unused.

She whistled to break the silence, immediately felt better. _Bloody hell. They ripped an android apart bare handed? Impressive_, _Ms Lawson._

The cables ran down a corridor running away from the kitchen, directly behind Sam. She dismissed the urge to pick up the SMG. She was more likely to do herself an injury. Besides, there was nothing down here. Except, perhaps, for ghosts.

_Nonsense. You are such an idiot._

She tiptoed forward, toward a door on her left which opened onto Liara's bedroom. Holographic projectors threw nightmarish, garbled images of a forest onto the walls. The cables knotted together into a mass of bright light on the far wall, behind her bed. She hung back on the threshold, rubbing her eyes.

On the _Normandy _Liara had been almost comically oblivious to her effect on Sam. Her mere whisper on the back of her neck would have been enough to reduce her to a quivering wreck. Everything was different in the midst of war. More fateful, more vivid, more urgent. More than anything, she had tried to be Liara's friend, and for several years afterwards the fact of missing her had been a constant presence. Sam supposed she was grieving for something that had never really been.

After all, they had only seen one another ashore once.

She moved on. Moved planets - several times. Moved up in the world. Met Yuli. Settled down. Years passed, until Liara's face blurred in Sam's memory, and her freckles and her shy smile only flashed back into her mind on seeing a picture or a vid.

But she still daydreamed that Liara would simply be _there _one day - in a crowd, at a conference, in a gallery, walking the other way down a crowded street in London or Ilium or Discovery or Quilla - wherever she happened to be. And Liara would recognise her and smile.

Sam swallowed.

_Did you forget me?_

Of course. Why would she remember? Sam crossed toward the power coupling. Pictures hung on the wall in front of it. She spotted the Commander wearing an old black and white Cerberus uniform, plenty more of the girl. She had streaks Shepard's colour raking off her cheeks and along her crests. She was easier to look at than Sam had been afraid of. She decided to visit. Sniffed.

Another picture. Liara in the _Normandy _CIC, caught on the podium above the galaxy map. No-one else, not even Garrus, would have dared stand there, ever. Sam found her there several times late at night, when she and the crew knew they were almost at an end, staring into the white whirlpool of stars.

She pried the picture from the wall. It was taken from the position opposite Sam's old post; Shepard's terminal. Liara was leaning on the rail, looking back at the camera, smiling sleepily. Her eyes were royal blue. They were the deep shade Sam remembered from their last goodbye before Hammer, when she had pressed something warm into Liara's palm and closed her fingers around it -

- _My dad gave me this_, she had explained. _It's very old._

Liara had stared blankly, clad in her blue and white armour, bellicose and alien. Sam had waffled.

- S_uccess comes down to good strategy. Mostly, sometimes it's chance. Heads or tails._

She pointed to the coin nestled in Liara's hand.

_That, there. That's - my luck. And, well, you'll need it more than me. Just return it when you're done, all right?_

Liara's grave expression broke into a smile, pulling Sam into a tight hug. She tucked it into her undershirt, beneath her armour.

Sam gulped back the lump threatening to form in her throat and threw her toolkit onto Liara's bed. No point waxing nostalgic. She needed to check the couplings, remove the mainframe pillars, start work. Working was better than thinking. She began to scan the wall for any sign of the power coupling's access panel.

Her gaze fell onto the nightstand; she laughed with surprise.

Tucked into the corner of a standing picture frame, gold tarnished through twenty years of heavy handling.

There it was.

* * *

Liara gasped awake. Her body felt like a slab of chilled meat. She flexed her limbs; her wrists and ankles were bound tight. It was impossible to inhale through her mouth. She tested her jaw and the shards of pain that splintered through her face confirmed she was wearing a gag; she recognised the type. She herself favoured variants that depressed the tongue and stuffed the mouth full. Over time they were a significant stressor.

She had never appreciated how painful a silencer gag actually was.

Liara was curled onto a slab-like cot, set against the back wall of a small, square room. A slot set high into the door cast a narrow shaft of light onto a threadbare chair and a bucket in the corner. There was nothing else; the rest of the room was dark. She rubbed her forearms along the inside of her thighs, but damp air clung to her skin. There was no blanket, no warmth and no means to get warm. The temperature roused her mind into full alert at the same time as it stilled her body. She heaved herself upright, knotted muscles grinding like frozen gears, bare feet scuffing the floor. Only the gag stopped her teeth from chattering.

She strained to make out a vent sat at floor level to her right. Doubtless the grate would be sealed tight, but the opening looked much too small ever to squeeze into. Liara half-remembered distant crashes, muffled words drifting upwards. She would investigate.

The wall at her back was solid rock.

For a moment, the cold disappeared. Liara was no geologist, but she was a creature of the ground. She was trained to expose the secrets hidden within rock and sediment. Now, she was expert at concealing herself between clefts of stone.

She rolled and knelt on the cot, tried to summon a flare to see by. Nothing happened; she felt no more than pins and needles in her fingers.

In the darkness, she felt a patch of scabby schist; above that, rough marble and to the side, low and close to the cot, a fine grained moonstone. Her mind began to race.

_Sinchi is single chunk of rock. I have been moved. Where? The mix is diverse for such a small space - rubble. Perhaps old regolith -_

She shook her head, skimmed her butterflied hands over the surface of the wall.

_No. Pieces are too large. Mixture of metamorphic, igneous, sedimentary. The different stones are packed and - yes - fused. Not yet combined. Insufficient heat, pressure or time -_

- Liara frowned -

_- or gravity. Yes! This is another asteroid. Perhaps a planetoid - but -_

She sunk back to the cot, defeated. There were as many asteroids in the galaxy as were grains of sand on a beach. She felt hope leaching away from her, replaced by a chill that seemed to spread out from her insides now as well as the air.

She shivered uncontrollably. The information was useless. And so was she.

Her mind strayed to Naya, the daughter she had so completely failed. The last of Shepard. The only thing she needed to protect at all costs. Gone. Now they were separated she shirked away from asking the inevitable question. Conjuring hope in here was as hard as kindling fire with wet flint.

The outside light died and, for a moment, she was thrown into perfect black. Then an overhead lamp flicked on, activated from outside, washing everything in red. The backlight had disappeared behind a face looking through the slot.

A series of deadbolts were clanked and snapped back - not for the first time, she remembered now. A human entered. Her eyes stung and she blinked rapidly to bring him into focus. He settled in the chair in front of her, setting a bowl on the floor beside his steel-capped boot. The man's eyes lingered on her unpleasantly. She tried to pull the hem of her paper gown down further, to cover up her exposed thighs, couldn't.

She forced herself to stare straight at him until he spoke.

"Dontcha give me the stink-eye, Blue. Else you make me feel like I'm not welcome, see." Muscles corded in his fat neck. "And you really don't want to do that."

He picked up the bowl again. For the first time Liara caught the scent of hot, steaming food inside it. She had not known she was hungry before; now her stomach clenched and churned so hard she nearly doubled over. He smirked from the corner of his mouth, eyes crafty. When he spoke his voice was a slow drawl.

"Contract says we hafta hand you over alive. No mention of _how _alive, though. You look fine to me right now. Don't _need _nothin."

He stirred the contents of the bowl slowly, fork and butterknife bunched in one hand. The aroma was juicy, maddening.

"Won't be long now. But you're a real good information broker. I know. A real _important _one. Figure I'll never get a chance like this again."

He may not have realised precisely who he had in his custody. If he did, her brain would have been turned inside out by now. But his tone, the feigned ignorance, was affectation. He might be uneducated but there was a hard, penetrating intelligence lurking beneath. Perhaps he wanted Liara to underestimate him. She had no intention of letting down her guard. This man ambushed her and stuck her like a animal.

But the food made it hard to think.

"You yell like last time, I'll knock your teeth outta your fuckin face. There's nobody can hear you. But you sit pretty for me like a good girl, we can have ourselves a good conversation. You give me what I want and I'll fill you up. You understand?"

She nodded. She could not remember the last time she had eaten or drunk anything.

"You gonna be good for me?"

She forced herself to nod again. Being difficult would serve no purpose other than to get herself more grievously injured, or sedated. Neither were conducive to escape, however fanciful that prospect might be right now.

He set the bowl back on the floor, moved to her.

"All right then."

She clamped down a cry of pained relief as he unclasped the gag. Presumably he liked the noise, because he stopped, then chuckled. The hinge of her jaw throbbed; she brought her hands up to rub the soreness out of her face.

"You got your voice?"

She tested it. It was clotted and thick.

"Okay." He slid the bowl under his chair with one foot. "Recognise this man? Ever met him, come across him in your files?"

The picture he showed her was of a rat-faced man with dirty brown hair, protruding ears and hollow circles beneath his eyes. It was a candid shot; he was sitting in front of a drink in some dive. He might once have been handsome, but he was no longer young and his skin was bloated and pitted.

She cleared her throat.

"That's - the former leader of CAT6."

Her tormentor smiled. She salivated.

"Good. Disappeared a couple years back. Name?"

"He had - many idents. Adam Borrow. Duane Ferris."

He twirled his finger in front of him. Dirt crusted under his nails. "But his _name_?"

She thought, hard, and the answer emerged from some deep mental crevasse.

" - Eldon. Glenn Eldon."

Eldon was clever and unpredictable. Once or twice she had retained him to extract information; he never failed. He was the best torturer in the Terminus. He loved his vocation. She valued his efficiency.

The man opposite her grinned, nodded. "Good. He was right. You _were _good."

"Who was?" Liara asked, voice level. At least she thought it was level.

The grin twisted into a sneer. "Shut up. I was gonna give you a bite now but that was so fuckin dumb - you can wait."

She was faint with hunger and fear. If Eldon had taken out the contract she could assured of a slow, excruciatingly painful death. A sharp pain burst across her kneecap; a kick.

His voice lowered.

"Stay with me, now. You tell me - when was the last time you seen him?"

"I have - never met him. Not face to face."

"Last you heard?"

"I - don't remember."

He stirred the bowl again, jabbed at the contents with a fork, blew on it.

"Try. And don't spin me some bullshit if you want some."

She dug her nails into her forearms until she ruptured skin. A picture welled into her mind.

_Afterlife_.

"He was operating out of Omega until - early last year. I've heard nothing from him, or about him, since. I thought he may have taken a deep cover job. Not for me. Something necessary to disappear into."

"You think? Or you _know?" _His voice was steely. For the first time, she noticed the resemblance between the man in front of her and the man in the picture.

"That's all I know. That's all."

He stared. The skin along her crests crawled; she hoped he thought she was only shaking with the cold.

And then she was rewarded with a single, wonderful mouthful. She chewed gingerly, face hurting. It was something roasted, meaty, spicy. Something rattled loose at the back of her mind, something she couldn't yet place. The human looked as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

He smiled like a shark.

"If I'm honest, I'm disappointed, Blue. I was expectin some more. Pity. But I did promise to fill you up, didn't I?"

_No. _Liara's blood froze. She was acutely aware of how exposed she was. She was nauseated. She had to keep him talking; took a chance.

"Do you miss your brother? Did he double-cross you, too? Is that why you want to find him?"

"Brother? What gives you the idea he's my brother?"

"I'm sure he's still alive. He was too clever by far to allow Omega to get the better of him."

"Sure." He took a step closer. Liara thought fast.

"I'm a pureblood. You know about asari like me, don't you?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Ever wondered why you found me in an isolated place like that?"

He was still pretty sure she was playing him, but he paused all the same.

"I don't think so, baby."

She licked her lips, feeling ridiculous.

"Dare to find out?"

It was almost enough to stop him. Almost.

His dirty hands darted toward her face.

She bit his fingers, hard. He lowed with suprised pain. He retaliated by slugging her in the mouth. She barely felt it, not yet. Her muscles coiled, knowing what would happen next.

A flanged female shout reverberated down the hall:

"_Spirits! Merle! Getthefuckinherenow!_"

His lip curled. He spat in her eye.

"Later, Blue."

Merle stomped the bowl and slammed the door behind him.

_Quickly_. Liara pitched straight onto the floor, snatched the butterknife out of the mess, lurched caterpillar-like, limbs still bound, toward the wall.

Nudged it carefully behind the grate.

Next, she rolled and began to pick through the soiled stew, picking out hunks with her fingers and cramming them into her mouth. She did not taste the grit.

It would be moments before someone returned to replace the gag. But several pieces had clicked into place. Hope blossomed in her chest.

Merle didn't come back.

Later, when the light behind the slot went dark and all she could hear was the buzz of silence in her ears, Liara retrieved the butterknife and began to grind.

* * *

**Second A/N: **Hope you will permit a quick shout-out for an excellent story: _Once More Unto The Breach _by **HugoCogs. **

This compulsively readable work just celebrated passing its 200,000 word mark. On the surface it's a FemShep x Liara tale but that's a facile description for the epic drama, action, humour and complex, deftly realised worldbuilding that for me are the hallmarks of this story, and why it's so amazing. Put simply - if you like post-ME3 FemShep, Liara, Sam, EDI, Joker, Garrus, Aethyta, galactic politics, asari, great cameos by all your favourite characters (including a dead one), public relations blunders and blinders, and little blue babies then you should be reading this story. That is not a comprehensive list, by the way.

The latest chapter - 30 at time of writing - has just been published and is a neat standalone in its own right, as well as a gateway to the rest of the story. Give it a go!

Finally, thanks to Hugo and Owel for their encouragement on this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Tuchanka orbit was teeming with ships, most larger and stronger than those at the relay. They were flying inside the shell of an unmanned reconnaissance drone. Perfect stealth but zero shields, limited life support and no weapons. A small thanix cannon and missile system were still locked uselessly in dry-dock. Using the _Manta_ was either inspired or insane.

Vega peeled himself out of his flight harness, green. As a grunt, he'd have been grateful that the consuming roar of the core and thrusters shook all thoughts from his head. Now, it just reminded him of the lives he was risking. Not just planetside, but in this experimental tin can, with its spongy eggshell hull the only thing protecting them from a boiling plasma envelope outside and beyond that, absolute zero.

The _Manta_ was executing a frightening series of high-speed rolls, dodges and flips around craft and debris in a race down to the ground. It was supposed to be invisible to scans and the naked eye.

Vega gulped. _Well, gotta hope so.  
_

A single squad, already wearing full combat armour, straightened when he entered their cramped holding pen. Suits were black. No ranks, no insignia. Even their N7 identification had been scrubbed off. If they fell on Tuchanka there would be no sign of Alliance intervention. Without a Council resolution there simply couldn't be.

They would act, eventually; just too late for Wrex.

_Hope none of these guys have tattoos like mine_.

Vega held on to a strut in the ceiling, allowed his shotgun to dangle from his other hand. It had been years since he'd seen action, but his hands remembered. Being inside his armour again was like being reunited with a second skin. It wicked his fear away like sweat.

He opened his suit comm and barked into it.

"Two minutes from atmo, marines! We drop onto the Ziggurat, grab Wrex andscram. Sedna has mapped access and ventilation systems to your nav interfaces. This is not a sightseeing trip. No war games. No engaging rebels unless we're engaged or obstructed. There is no evidence to suggest they have breached Wrex's defences – but that intel is an hour old, and we're flying blind, men.

_Wrex, hold on. I'm coming for you._

"Be ready to beat feet in ten. Vega out."

The squad's echoing _hoo-ah _made Vega breathe easier. He stooped, returned to his seat. A cloudburst of purples and greens had started to break against the prow; they were touching the edge of Tuchanka's mesosphere. He looked at his feet, tried not to look not out the window.

Sedna opened a private channel.

"Admiral. When we land we will move together. We will be a team. I will protect you."

"Roger that. But don't get underfoot. I can handle myself."

"We will see. You are afraid."

"It would be crazy not to be a little bit afraid, Sedna. I'm okay."

_Better than okay_, he realised. He was euphoric, in full fight or flight mode, senses in overdrive. The right response, at the right time, for the first time in years. He laid his shotgun across his lap.

"You born on Tuchanka?"

She shifted. "No. I was brought here when I became Wrex's concubine. I was ten."

"You were what? Not sure I heard that right."

"I was ten. It was my choice."

Her expression was unreadable beneath her helmet, but her voice was tinged with derision.

"You have misunderstood. Wrex has Bakara, secondary wives, consorts. The agreement is political, not conjugal. At least, not until I wish it. Wrex may be many things, but he is not a monster. I am lucky. In his position, many others would be."

"I have a daughter – younger than you. Can't imagine her doing what you have. But Wrex – he is good to you?"

"Yes. I wanted to be a Battlemaster. He apprenticed me as soon as I arrived. He has spent years training me. I was lucky enough to be cursed. I would be a mother many times over if I was not."

Vega paused. "I don't get what you mean."

Sedna flared. Purple flame licked around her bulk.

"There is a stupid old myth that they affect fertility. Biotics are rare amongst krogan. Mistrusted. I might have been able to stay with my mother, but they strengthened too early."

Vega lifted his eyes. The _Manta_ was still high enough to glimpse the backlit arc of the planet, but they were driving toward the ground like a stone shot from a catapult. Darkened plateaus lay below, scarred with streaks and pools of red.

At this speed, they would be dirtside in minutes.

Exhilaration tingled underneath his skin.

"Once we extract Wrex, we'll go to the Council. They'll help you."

"Yes. They have always been so very helpful before. You may be a brute, Admiral. The Council are criminals."

He remembered Tali, stuttering at the sight of him the previous day. And her kiss. Something clicked. The inertial dampeners unsettled him.

He looked back at Sedna.

"We won't see eye to eye on this. Personally I think the sanctions were too hard, but they weren't my choice. I just enforce them. Wrex is still a Council ally. They'll have to support him."

But she had closed off. He stowed any further questions about her or Wrex and turned to the mission. Beneath them, cities bloomed enormously.

"What was the situation in the air when you left?" he asked.

"Tarkan has many orbital ships and troop carriers, but few small fighter craft," Sedna replied. "We are most likely to find them around the Ziggurat, but the AA guns are active. With your stealth drive online, we will slip through the net."

"Sure hope so." _We're in deep shit if we don't._

"Transports were landing on the edges of Urdnot and moving in from the east, north and south. The spaceport lies to the west. It is heavily defended."

"Pity we can't radio Wrex from the _Manta. _How close is he to the port?"

"The Ziggurat is several miles away. At some point he will make a break for the port, but I do not think it will be yet. Wrex will want to draw as many fighters to the Ziggurat before he leaves."

"Why? He have a death wish?"

Sedna ignored him. She turned back to the viewport. "We're approaching Urdnot, Admiral. We're close enough to see."

The altimeter dropped two thousand metres in the time it took him just to read it. They were dropping faster than he thought possible. Though the inertial dampeners gave his body no sign, Vega could see their dive was flattening out.

Ahead of them he could see an immense pattern of lights, jewels scattered across a midnight city whose boundaries vanished into haze on the left and were hemmed by a black mountain range to the right.

The Ziggurat was a serrated tooth, unlit and black against the horizon, pushing above an endless spread of buildings and shacks.

The _Manta _swooped lower as they reached Urdnot, moving several times as fast as anything else in the sky. In one moment they shot past gargantuan transports spewing troops onto the ground outside the city, a tide of warriors surging toward the lights.

Swathes of the city they passed over were totally dark. Others were quiet. Closer to the centre whole districts were in flames – the _Manta_ followed the course of a ribbon of burning rubble, miles long, flowing around and between ruined buildings like lava.

There were flashes of total blackout; Vega's heart stopped each time until he realised they were shooting through plumes of hot soot.

After the War, Wrex begged, borrowed and stole to rebuild Urdnot as a krogan capital his people could be proud of and other races would respect. Vega remembered pristine, new buildings gleaming in sun. He wondered how many would be smoking ruins by daybreak.

_The evidence is undeniable. The krogan have remilitarised. Right under the noses of the CDEM. How could the Council be so blind?_

Beside him, Sedna sat motionless. She squeezed the hilt of her knife. Rage rose off her in waves. Vega powerfully wanted out of the cockpit.

They sank low enough for him to see individual krogan massing in open spaces and roads. He saw ragged defensive lines; advancing forces. Riots, with krogan orgiastically emptying entire clips into the sky. Running battles moved quickly up open streets. A silent vision of hell.

_Chaos. Like a krogan feeding frenzy._

The _Manta_ shed speed and altitude as the Ziggurat loomed closer, as if the craft were punching through water instead of air. Both lurched forward in their seats. Three AA guns on the lower slopes of the pyramid spat a stream of yellow sparks; aircraft pinwheeled out of the sky or exploded in place, raining shrapnel onto the ground below.

They were low to the ground now, almost close enough to skim the roofs. He gripped his shotgun. He was ready.

They had not been detected, wouldn't be. The _Manta_ was fast and silent. They were still in range of the AA guns but would pass beyond in seconds. Then down onto the steps of the pyramid.

Vega whooped.

Then, no noise quite like it: a spray of bullets hitting the undercarriage. The hull was tough enough to withstand collisions in space; bullets would not be a problem.

But they cut out the stealth drive. It sputtered, failed.

_Oh, fuck -_

The last thing Vega saw was more small yellow sparks flying directly at him.

* * *

"Another coffee. Make it Irish." She remembered her manners. "Please."

Ash was tucked behind a small table at the far end of the bar. She was sick of the cramped quarters and familiar faces on the _Mariana; _besides, there was a good chance that Aria would revoke her landing status if she returned to the ship. The Bardo Hotel was iconic, jutting like a gleaming steel fang from the roof of the station. Inaccessible to the masses, away from the dirt and the din; here the air was clear.

There was space to think.

Her order arrived, black and steaming, and the barkeep removed her empties, hurried away. Ash's Carnifex lay within arm's reach on the table, and her Black Widow leaned against the back of the chair. Other patrons gave her a wide berth and she liked it that way. Right now, it was necessary.

She had one end of the bar to herself - the panoramic end with the wraparound glass and the famous views down over Omega, hovercars streaming past. Nothing new. Ash hunched over a datapad.

She sipped her coffee. This was her third and the first two had been strong enough to knock an elcor on its ass. The whiskey needed to take the edge off, else she would jump out of her own skin.

_Damn you to hell, Aria. This isn't about me. It isn't about either of us._

There was no time to waste and yet here she was, pondering her next move like this was some parlour game.

_Finding Liara just became like finding the proverbial shuttle in an asteroid field._

But there were other options. Ash narrowed them down, discounting the toothless old gangs and the Terminus's petty dictators until she was left with a single one.

She stared down into the pad like a scrying pool. Beady blue eyes glared back out of the mugshot at the top of the Council dossier. She didn't know what she didn't know but from the present vantage point, Ash figured that to be a hell of a lot.

That made her nervous.

Sulla Darkissian had a permanent residence in Maru District, an exclusive area ringed with shanties. He created a teeming wall of living beings around himself to keep Aria out, with good reason.

He was as close as she got to a rival.

Ash paged down impatiently with one digit. Darkissian spent thirty years in the Hierarchy, then resigned his commission after the War to take his chances in the Terminus. Resurfaced on Cartagena Station in 2193. Then local records listed Darkissian as the director of an eezo salvage operation on Eingana.

Darkissian earned a reputation for bravery and was proud of it, maintaining operations and a small settlement on the surface. He bought himself an officer's commission in the Terminus's new unified militia. He began to style himself Major Darkissian.

Strangely, eezo-poor outposts daring to protest about his high prices or trying to renegotiate payment terms became prey for slavers.

Ash scratched her jaw.

_That's why I hate it out here. Still no rule of law, no justice, no rights. The rich get richer –_

She thought of the batarian boy's bug-like eyes and the hollows between his ribs.

_The League doesn't do jack shit._

She ground her teeth.

Darkissian moved his headquarters to Joab at the start of the decade, began to diversify, like the colony itself. The post-garden world was home to large human, turian and volus communities; by the time he took hold, Joab supplied more than a fifth of the League's conscripts. By this point, he held minority shareholdings in an Ilium-based defence manufacturer and a Heshtok biotech startup.

_Probably more Council intelligence doesn't know about._

When Joab's representative to the League died, he was selected her replacement, moved to Omega. He spent the past several years worming his way into the station's highest circles until his influence on Omega - and power within the League – made him difficult for Aria to control, but impossible to remove.

A killer combination none of the other leaders – despots, puppets, all of them – could match.

Ash leaned back in her chair, knocked her head back against the glass with a dull clunk. Closed her eyes, exhaled slowly. A cloud of unpleasant co-incidences seemed to trail Darkissian.

_How many assassins did it take, Darko? How many votes did you buy?_

If she went to him for help there was no going back. The Council's relationship with Aria could be put beyond repair. Thanks to her, perhaps it already was.

She finished her coffee, whiskey glowing in her belly.

Nobody rose out of the muck as quickly as he did without being clever, lucky, ruthless or a combination of all three.

But she was out of options. Liara wouldn't live forever. She rose to her feet, settled her chit at the counter. Omega's brown, fetid air hit her as soon as she left the climate-controlled cool of the central lobby. She walked to the head of the cab rank in a trance, oblivious to the well-dressed line shuffling back to let her in.

_Well, if I'm not number one on Aria's shit list already, I will be now._

Ash stared with glassy eyes as the cab sunk to the bottom of the pit. She hoped James got her message. She'd been in the DMZ not a week ago and some heavy shit looked about to kick off.

Hopefully he'd miss all of it. She hoped the asshole was okay.

She wasn't going to think about this morning – yesterday morning, now.

_That wasn't an accident. Not for me. Goddamnit, James._

If he were here he would be cautioning against Darkissian in his slow, thoughtful voice.

She was let out at the perimeter of the shanty. Omega was always awake but the cab wouldn't risk the trip through this late. She got her bearings with her omni, struck out for Maru at the centre.

She pressed into a maze of deserted passages, closed on all sides, lit only by dim yellow bulbs. Her boots scuffed through refuse which seemed to twitch underfoot. Vermin scattered ahead of her. The spaces narrowed as she progressed, until the alley could barely fit three people walking side-by-side. It felt like caving. She would eventually reach open space on the other side, knew it was there, but before that she'd have to hold her breath.

And then Ash had no breath left.

Before she knew it she had yanked a door open to her left, any door, didn't matter which, and ducked inside.

Compared to the passage the space felt cavernous, but it was not. Banks of candles lined the sides. It was silent, empty, serene.

There was a neon blue cross high on the back wall.

Ash blinked.

There were more smells and bells than she was used to – more James's style, if he had one - but this was a church. An honest-to-god church. Buried in the filth of the biggest dump in the galaxy.

_You have got to be shitting me._

The silence parted around her as she moved up the aisle and sat down around the middle. Maybe this was a sign. A large part of her wanted it to be. Ash pressed her forehead to the pew in front, sighed. Against her eyelids she saw James sagged where she'd found him in the nightclub last night. Remembered the confused, wanting look in his eyes when she'd slid in next to him.

Remembered he had pushed her to take Tali's data. Her stomach swooped.

She woke her omni and called up the data packet. It was a manifest of some kind. Dates in the left hand column, cargoes and volumes in the middle, customers on the end. Whole thing read like gobbledegook; it had to be written in some kind of code.

Ash lurched onto the balls of her feet and began to pace. She couldn't afford to be this damn clueless. She knew the data had something to do with Aria's export operations. Maybe she could make some kind of trade with Darkissian; dismissed the notion immediately. She began to circle the room, boots tap-tap-tapping loudly against the concrete floor.

Strange, grimy pictures on the walls began to jump out at her. An asari in a crimson dress; a batarian with a drawstring purse; a pair, standing in a boat.

_No. Godddamned. Way._

She snorted; then hacked out a laugh.

"Something funny?"

_Fuck_. She drew and aimed her pistol in one single, smooth reflex.

A figure wearing a neat black suit, white splash at the throat, emerged from shadow. He wore some concealed weapon under his jacket but he hadn't pulled it on her.

Ash paused a second longer; lowered the gun slowly.

"Wasn't expecting company."

"Do you usually greet priests like that?"

His teeth were like needles. She realised she was staring; the batarian looked ridiculous, like a pet dressed in people clothes. She suppressed the urge to laugh again, replaced the Carnifex on her hip.

"No. I- it's late. You surprised me."

"You find the murals amusing?"

Ash was on the spot.

"Uh, they're not what I was expecting. That's all."

"So you laugh at what you don't understand."

Ash bristled but didn't rise to it.

"You always walk around your church armed?"

"Only at night. The quiet attracts delinquents. People deface the pictures." His hand twitched toward the weapon in his jacket.

Ash stepped back, forced a smile.

"No plans to passing through."

He eyed the expensive armour and the custom sniper rifle on her back. "I can see. You are not from here. But tell me, human. What was so funny?"

He wasn't going to allow her to leave without answering. Her earlier laughter already felt churlish. Ash could feel her cheeks reddening, hoped he couldn't see it. She turned back to the images. She paused a moment before she spoke but her answer wasn't improved by the wait.

"Just looks – odd. Out of place. Mary. Simon and Andrew. They weren't, well, batarian. Or asari."

"Of course. How disgusting to see four eyed savages spreading the Word."

"I've upset you," Ash replied. She held her hands open in front of her. "I don't mean any offense."

She tried to edge away. The conversation was surreal, like a bad dream.

"Remember the tactics of the missionaries on your homeworld before you come to this church and laugh at it. All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of the Lord. We help the poor and sick and needy here."

"I'm sorry. Live and let live, sir." Old words poured into her mind; she tried to placate him. "I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned."

The batarian's unsettling smile spread across his face.

"Jesus saves all of us. Are you here to pray?"

"No. Just walked in off the street."

_I don't pray. Not anymore._

"Well. You are not alone. Especially not on Omega."

Ash shuddered, but he did not appear to notice. Instead, he reached out and prodded the emblems on her chestplate.

"You are the _Normandy _Spectre. Williams. You won't find Aria down here." He looked at her. "Unless you're not looking for Aria."

She said nothing. His voice carried new concern.

"Darkissian is a benefactor of sorts for this church. He is powerful. But he is not a good man, and Aria is more dangerous. Siding against her would be unwise."

_Now a damn priest is telling me what to do? Jesus._ "I'm open to suggestions."

He narrowed all four of his eyes.

"Aria is a force of nature. She will only act in self interest. Compassion is unknown to her. She must gain with every move she makes. Or others must lose."

"Sounds like you know her well."

He wrung his hands together. "There are many paths to God. You are right that mine involved violence. Still does when the situation requires it." He shifted his weight between his feet, voice soft.

"Why are you here, Williams?"

She glimpsed a deeper meaning. He wasn't asking about the mission specifics.

"To try to do good. To, uh –" she scrabbled for words. Ash tried to be a good person. But she no longer knew if Liara was good. Or a friend.

"To save the life of a mother. I won't take lives needlessly. I won't put innocents in the way."

_If I can help it_, she added silently.

The batarian was quiet for a moment, looking down at the floor. His head cocked right, beckoned.

"Sit with me." He gestured to a seat.

"Now, do not be alarmed. I saw your data. I said - do not be alarmed. I hear confessions that would make your blood curdle. Show them to me again."

Ash hesitated. Now she had two options, but both were awful. Avoiding Darkissian meant trusting him. If the priest was under Darkissian's protection, trusting him might be tantamount to siding with the turian anyway.

So she was back with only one choice.

In reality, no choice.

She pulled up the manifest again; it flashed in front of their two faces, washing them blue. He spoke deliberately, without taking either pair of eyes off it. Without looking at Ash.

"We are almost penniless here, Williams, yet each day this church finds a way to clothe the naked and feed the poor. God always provides."

_Bastard's got balls. _She gave him a sideways glare, bowed her head once.

"These are eezo consignments." He pointed to the middle columns. "You knew this, I take it. Customers are here. The last column shows Aria's markup on the goods." He reached up to manipulate the view. "_Very_ interesting."

"Come on. I haven't got all night."

The batarian became more animated with each word. "That code – yes, that's right. Aria is exporting large quantities of eezo either at cost, or at a loss, to Tuchanka. Specifically, Urdnot and Urdnot Wrex. Weapons, too. That's his designation, there."

He pointed. Entry upon entry – they were all the same. _Wrex. Wrex. Wrex._

Ash was electrified. She had to stop herself from bounding out at full tilt. Aria was ignoring sanctions. Wrex was a Council ally but this couldn't be good. Valuable intel for Darkissian; but even better leverage with Aria. This was dynamite.

_Will this screw James? __I can't afford not to use this._

She startled slightly when the batarian put his hand on her arm. Ash tapped her omni and a bowl at the entrance rang loudly with virtual coin.

"That is generous. My thanks."

She sighed. "Well, you scratched my back. What's the most direct way back to Afterlife?"

He gave her directions, walked her briskly to the exit. He held on to her for a moment, standing in her path.

"This is a mean place but you are welcome here, Williams. There is no saint without a past. No sinner without a future. God has not forgotten you. Do not forget Him."

Ash shrugged. But her voice cracked as she opened the door.

"Thank you. Father -?"

"Anto," he replied, receding back into the shadow.

* * *

**A/N: **_Thanks to all for continuing to read along, I do hope you're still enjoying it – and thanks for continuing to review. _

_My especial thanks to the amazing Hugo for the support with this chapter. _

_The eagle eyed will see various religious passages phrased or paraphrased, namely Romans 3:23, John 5:24, and the _Confessions_ of Saint Augustine, as well as references to a Buddhist concept. No offense whatsoever is intended at all with any of this, please don't take any! I just wanted to explore an aspect of Ash, and Omega, that to me always seemed fascinating but could never appear in canon. Also, I am taking liberties with the events of ME: Invasion, but hopefully forgivable ones._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Liara's skull felt like it had been rinsed with maw acid, and she had long ago given up any accurate track of time. Merle's fists and elbows and knees had beat her, bone driving against bone and into muscle, until the slide back into black had been a relief. She came to with the viewport in the door showing blank darkness and the striplight above her cranked to full. It was impossible to sleep or doze. No position she twisted into was comfortable, and the glare flared pain behind her eye sockets.

Instead, she occupied herself counting the flecks in the rock and the thin stripes criss-crossing the worn fabric of the cot mattress and the smears of her blood on the floor. Her senses bled together until reality itself began to drift. The quiet hum of the bulb was the only sound aside from her breathing; it skipped and stopped in a repeating pattern, over and over.

She had curled around the knife and finished it. There was some comfort – not much, but some – knowing it lay hidden in the mouth of the vent. There would be only one opportunity to use it, one she could not afford to waste.

Would not.

The chances of escape or rescue dimmed with every passing hour. She had been abducted for some purpose but there was no clue, even now, about who or how or why. Sinchi was perfectly concealed; there had been no compromises. More than her own life had depended on that. She strained hopelessly to remember Naya; the zig-zag symmetries of her face and the innocent expression as she slept were all hidden in a dense bank of fog. She no longer even had the meagre luxury of dreaming. At this rate, Naya would grow up knowing Glyph as her only parent.

_If she grows up at all. If I was lucky, and these animals overlooked her. If war breaks out, nowhere will be safe._

Later – minutes or hours were impossible to distinguish – the drell called Pripyat entered her cell. His movements were silent and as controlled as a dancer's as he knelt and set a bag down beside her cot. He towered above her before kneeling and pressing thin, cool fingers to her neck.

She was dormant, neither asleep nor quite awake. She stared through the drell without seeing, eyes glassy, her only movement a slight stir when his forearm flashed bright orange. He skimmed his omni down her torso, then rolled her robe up to sweep his hands across the skin covering her cracked ribs. His eyes were expressionless.

Somewhere, Liara understood he was conducting some kind of medical assessment. His touch shouldn't be soothing, but he was practiced. She hated the relief that bubbled up inside her, the part of herself that drew comfort from his presence, that she was no longer alone. His calm bearing reminded her of Thane, on the few occasions she had met him. But Thane had also been lethal. She reminded herself that she also needed to be.

_He is only checking Merle didn't do any permanent damage._

He finally tugged at her dislocated shoulder, harder than necessary. Agony raked through her chest and neck. Liara hissed, failed to pull herself upright off the cot with her good arm. Glared at him.

"Wake up." Pripyat didn't take his eyes off her but his hand disappeared into the bag. His other hand guided her onto her back. "Good news."

A quick wheeze as he discharged a hypospray into her wrist; in this state, Liara made no attempt to stop him. She was surprised when the world resolved into slightly sharper focus.

"For you, perhaps. Killing the hostage is generally ill-advised." She croaked, tasted blood in her throat.

"He might have if Alessian had not stopped him in time. Merle is volatile. Violent when frustrated, which he frequently is."

Pripyat bent his head to swab the gashes along the side of her face and the blooms of purpled, broken skin along her flanks. The tang of alcohol filled the air. Liara gritted her teeth; the cuts burned furiously, but Pripyat was swift and sure. She wondered, distantly, how a talented doctor had slipped into his present line of work.

"You know him well, then."

"Not especially."

"And yet you follow - his orders. He is a brute." Her breaths were shallow.

"Yes. I understand he normally works alone. He recruited us, not the other way around."

The butt of a concealed Karpov peeked from underneath his jacket. Old model, but effective. In other circumstances she could have jammed it against his temple or blown his head off with fluid ease; but not now.

"He must be collecting a hefty fee for the hit. I suppose your own must be big."

Pripyat didn't smile. "It was more than satisfactory. Was being the operative word. Now, my cut is a percentage of a fat zero."

The lights seemed brighter than before; the quickening pain across her body and the medication pumping around her body were sharpening her awareness.

"I guessed he received bad news. He didn't stop to tell me what it was before he –"a cough became a racking spasm, bolts of pain lancing across her ribs Her broken crests and the mucus and crusted blood daubed across her skin said the rest. The drell finished snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves. Now he stopped midway through breaking the seal on a tube of medigel.

"All our attempts to contact our client failed when we reached – "he caught himself at the last moment – "our present location. None of our agreed channels of communication were operational."

You were double-crossed?"

He frowned. "Quiet. No. He was killed."

Despite everything, Liara had to suppress a smile.

"I cannot say I am sorry."

"We saw it on the news networks. Murdered in a first class spaceport lounge. No trace of an assassin."

"I see. That complicates matters for you."

Pripyat warmed gobs of medigel between his fingertips and smoothed them across her ribcage, holding the scrap of paper gown up. Liara struggled not to let a sudden, beautiful absence of pain dull her mind.

"So your payout went up in smoke. And Merle lost his cool."

"Yes." His hands slowed until they rested lightly over her sides. "Given the circumstances this apology will be meaningless, but I believe what he did was wrong. Excessive. Even if he was right about you."

He left her gown crumpled beneath her chest. There was little point attempting to flatten it. It did not cover her nakedness or stave off the cold, and there was filth packed under her nails. Humiliation cut deep.

"Right about what?" she asked.

Pripyat ignored her question. Instead, he handed her a small, rubber cylinder, covered with nicks and dents from previous use.

"Bite down on this while I re-set your shoulder. You will need to relax your muscles as much as you are able. Keep your chest flat to the cot. On three."

He pinned her upper body down with a wiry forearm, then reached over with the other to grip her elbow. Abruptly, he pulled her arm away from her body, rotating and angling it until the edges of her vision greyed and her jaw clamped shut. She had experienced worse, but in her present state of abject exhaustion she had to stifle a scream of pain.

Liara felt rather than heard the _pop_ as her shoulder rolled back into place.

_These injuries are not life threatening. Is he a doctor or a mercenary first? _

She could guess. The mission was in jeopardy; they had a package suddenly without a customer, and all three of them – her, Pripyat and the turian, Livy – were at Merle's deranged mercies. He would turn on them all – drell and turian included - if alternative plans did not materialise quickly. She suspected Pripyat had realised this on his own. Her situation was teetering between lethal and fatal, and without allies, probably the latter. Fear sunk, cold like lead, into her chest, initial elation gone. The odds she would die in this hole – wherever this was – were short.

She tried another path. "Do you know Livy – Alessian - well?"

"Well enough." He pursed his lips.

"She's special branch. Or hastatim. I can see that much."

"Then you will know better than to question her."

"I am not. I am asking you. Does she have any history with Merle?"

"None I would share with you."

"She seems to know him better than you do. She is more familiar with him. As if she had worked with him before. Have you worked with her before?"

He said nothing, but she could sense his temper fraying.

_She must be the link. Merle booked the job, brought in Livy, and Livy called him. Pripyat is out of his depth. I think he knows it. _

She smiled wanly at him from her prone position on the cot. "I do not mean to ask difficult questions. Thank you. For this."

Pripyat bobbed his head, hands now feeling for the lattice of eezo nodules under her jaw, the fork under her arms. Another hypospray pushed a new dose of something through the skin of her shoulder; she was not told what, and she did not ask.

Finally, he stiffened his fingers and pressed firmly down into her stomach. It felt like a shard of glass slicing deep into her gut. Liara groaned, jerked her legs to her chest. The new shackles leashing her ankles to the floor clanked loudly, and he flinched.

"Please. You must be quiet. I am not finished yet. I can't stay much longer."

Pripyat produced a large syringe and snapped it onto a long, striped needle, large enough to pierce the hide of a krogan, swabbing the skin above her navel with the sterilising agent. She bit down on her tongue; she could not afford to white out.

"My scan indicated significant haemorrhaging in your abdominal cavity. This will stop the bleed and accelerate healing. Painful, but I would prefer you were fully alert for this procedure."

Liara eyed the needle, muscles clenched. He cocked his head bemusedly but his eyes were serious.

"If I intended to kill you I could do so in countless other ways. I could have kept you catatonic. Your lucidity is my promise to you that I mean you no harm. Without this, you will continue to bleed. You will most likely die."

She thought of Merle's pink, livid face and the knife behind the grate and flushed the rage through her system like acid in her veins. After a long moment, she nodded. Pripyat hovered over the injection site for a moment before plunging the needle though her skin and muscle, deep into her viscera. It was a white hot skewer of agony, long and lasting for what felt like forever, before he withdrew it carefully and smeared gel over the wound.

Holding her belly, Liara pushed herself onto her side and drew her knees up again. She grasped his collar, looked into his liquid black eyes.

"Is there a new plan? Is that what this is about?"

He shook his head, as though trying to shake away memories. "I was a youth when the War broke out. Just look at you now."

"You're helping me because of who I was in the War?"

His lips curved upward; his smile was unnerving. "No. Alessian was right. You are arrogant. Merle has negotiated a new deal."

Her blood ran cold. "And what cut do you get now, drell?"

He flinched. Liara's heart thumped in the silence.

_Nothing. He gets nothing._

"Tell me. Who is he talking to?"

The drell rose to his feet, gathered his bag from the floor, and brushed the filth from the floor off his knees.

"Merle will act soon. Prepare yourself."

The door whispered shut behind him; seconds later, the overhead light died. She lay in the dark, head spinning, further from sleep than she had ever been.

_Naya - I swear I'll come for you. _

* * *

The _SSV Turing _was a cramped research corvette by Alliance standards; a pre-war model, designed to carry thirty souls at full capacity, and retro-fitted with an oversized drive core that could push its javelin-shaped hull at phenomenal speed. The ship felt like a well-equipped showboat to Tali; quiet, impersonal. She was a third smaller, but the _Turing _could have taken as many as a frigate like the _Normandy SR1_- more -if its offensive hardware had been substituted with habitat compartments, not labs and hangar space.

Empty bulkheads still made her uneasy. The research ships her father captained when she was a girl - starting with a tin-can called the _Zhenya _and ending with the cruiser-sized _Alarei_ – had been idle and deserted. They had been appropriated, often donated, reconditioned, but sometimes it had just been him and her, living alone or with a Special Projects skeleton crew, for months on end. Her cousins lived on overcrowded ships; the luxury of all the space she had to roam about in made her cheeks burn with embarrassment. And it had kept her awake at night. The other half of her childhood – the months her father sent her to stay with Raan – was different. She remembered the warm, shamefaced pleasure at going to school, sleeping in a cramped berth, even getting sick. The sweet feeling that she could be normal.

As she grew up, the Admiralty obliged her father to prioritise housing needy families over his research interests more than once. When that happened Tali paced outside the airlocks, waiting, worrying her suit seals. Then she'd hover for days and rush around running errands while her father ignored their guests. Invariably, her natural talents as a grease monkey would come in handy sooner or later, and she would find herself squeezing into confined spaces wearing a toolbelt.

Much like today. She was older, but wiser was a matter of opinion.

Someone entered the hold, treading delicately across the floor in squeaky rubber-soled shoes. Tali recognised the footfalls. She slid out from beneath the rack, accepted Samantha's hand up from the floor, cracked some of the kinks in her spine. Working with the human again felt comfortable, natural, like a snug-fitting glove; suggesting her to James had been the right call.

Once she finished rolling her shoulders, she accepted a steaming hot cup. A bitter scent hit her nose.

"I got some of that eye-wateringly strong coffee for me. The kitchen staff tell me that's the dextro equivalent. But they did have to scrape it from a jar at the back of the cupboard, so I think they might have been pulling my leg." Samantha was apologetic.

"You might be right. But thank you, anyway." Tali sniffed the sickly-smelling steam rising from her own cup, sighed. "Keelah. It feels good to be poking around the insides of a computer again."

"I bet. Thanks for letting me catch some sleep. Are you winning?"

"I've connected six of the core mainframe blades – the ones in this stack." She waved the cup back at the bank of silent, black slates, the highest slotted high above her head. "Most of these only needed minor physical repairs. Easy to swap out some of the damaged processors."

"Oh. Did the _Turing _carry replacements_? _It doesn't look like the kind of kit you could find in a pinch."

"I _am _an engineer," Tali reminded her. "And still a good one. Anything I haven't been able to requisition from ship stores I've recycled from broken units. The components are unusual, but they are hardly one of a kind."

"How many more are there to fix and hook up?"

"There are hundred and twenty in total. Twenty networked stacks." Most were stored neatly in black pallets on the other side of the hold. "I've repaired and connected a single stack so far. Fifteen blades are non-functional, and another nine were melted by a surge. Probably the one that killed Grunt."

"Was there anything different about the units that melted?" Sam asked. Several charred parts lay on workbenches in the centre of the room. Tali rubbed the back of her bald, white scalp.

"I'm not sure yet. They could have housed Glyph's runtime and personality subroutines. If that's the case there will be no recovering him. Or they could simply have been the unlucky ones closest to the surge. Or both. The hardware isn't telling me much. Rebooting the system will give us more. So it's over to you."

"No pressure, then." Samantha flashed perfect white teeth. "Ever feel like a career change? I'd hire you on the spot."

"Don't tempt me." Traynor Technologies had R&D facilities on Rannoch, taking advantage of the reservoir of expertise inherited by veterans of the Migrant Fleet, and Tali occasionally daydreamed about putting in a call. Going home. One day she promised herself she would. She rubbed the scales along the side of her neck, ran her hands over her face. She wouldn't admit she was tired, raw, confused – even to herself.

_Compared to Ash and James, we have it easy._

She bent to a console on the side of the stack, scribbled in a code with one finger. Lights along the floor twinkled on. "I think it's time to try running power to stack one."

"And I'm getting the feeling you want to change the subject. But let's see what we have here." Samantha slid behind a desk and a bank of three large monitors. She plucked more screens from the air around her into being, filled with grids and swooping lines. She beckoned to Tali, who pulled up a chair beside her. Another ten minutes out from under the mainframe would keep her awake; it was warm and dark tucked below.

A low hum started from the heart of the stacks. The lines on Samantha's screens leapt while she plugged in commands.

"Okay. This needs a little time to warm up. Then I'll see if it will talk." Samantha swigged from her cup, eyes shining with curiosity. Darkness hung around them; they both sat in a corona of light. The rest of the hold was murky and silent. The area was off-limits to the rest of the crew.

"You know, I met Grunt a few times when he came to Ilium, but I wouldn't say I knew him well. Did you?"

"Not really. He spent most of the past twenty years in krogan space – then the Skyllian Verge."

"I heard about that. Strange job for Urdnot Wrex to give him. Diplomatic attache - it's about the last job I would have given him."

"Actually, Grunt wasn't bad at all. Shepard rubbed off on him. Dealing with the krogan embassy was hard work in comparison. Older krogan are barely civil, but at least have some self-control. The new younglings were a nightmare. Before they withdrew their embassy, anyway."

The relief nearly had Tali dancing around the new Council chamber. The swathe of broken bones, ryncol poisonings, and gun crime on the station had disappeared almost overnight.

Samantha's voice sank. "Sounds like we're lucky they're all locked away from the rest of us, then." She sounded genuinely thankful. "Did he really see Shepard as –"

The screen spat out a command prompt. Samantha's fingers flew immediately across the haptic interface, question forgotten. The system responded by spewing hundreds of lines of code, pouring dense-packed letters and numbers onto the monitors.

"Good. I half-thought the system would be Armali-coded," Samantha murmured. "Which would have been a tad problematic. And – wait – even better -"

Her eyes scanned rapidly across the torrent.

Tali was unsurprised, but she leaned forward for a closer look. The system was based on Alliance technology. Obvious, really, since the Shadow Broker's archives had relied on the _Normandy's_ processors during the War, and Liara crashed most of the yahg's systems into Hagalaz along with his ship. This system was human shaped and sized; which is why Tali had requisitioned Samantha in the first place. Her gut relaxed, vindicated.

Samantha babbled excitedly to herself, eyes glued to the monitors.

"We're in luck. We've recovered the last two hours of the Broker's – _Liara's_ - executable commands before shutdown. It's fragmentary, but it's a start." Her feet tapped an excited tarantella along the floor.

"Go on."

"Let's see – she seems to have unwound several positions on the Nos Astra and Lenos forex desks - then ploughed several hundred million credits into an account in – Port Hanshan. I think. No idea what for. Yes - agents reported in from Palaven, Chasca and - Kharshan. A data packet was beamed via QEC to Tuchanka. Again, no idea what for. And - damn it." Frustration rang in her voice. "I'll start cleaning some of this up. None of this is helpful."

"No, that's good. Really." Tali squeezed the human's shoulder. "We don't know what we don't know. Our leads could come from anywhere at the moment. Anything else?"

"No. Actually – hang on." Samantha's voice hitched. "One more - a kill confirmation. Amon Ortega, neutralised Efesia spaceport. Object acquired. Rendezvous at – I – I can't see where. There's more. I'll keep going."

Tali drained her cup and stood. The coffee and the data had forced her wide awake, brimming with anticipation.

"So will I. I'll get the next stack ready to boot as quickly as I can."

* * *

Afterlife still heaved when Ash pushed herself out of the return cab. On any other station in the galaxy artificial lights would be rising for the start of the morning cycle, but here morning did not exist. She shouldered her way past the never-ending line and re-entered the club. The same dancers span around the same poles; the same music thudded into her ears and rattled through her hardsuit. There were no clocks and no viewports, and anything was allowed, anytime, under cover of permanent night.

Afterlife existed out of time, and Aria was careful to keep things that way. Much more lucrative.

Ash's trigger finger itched, but she left her Carnifex where it hung from her hip and her Black Widow and Mattock stowed on her back. Getting twitchy right now right would be suicide. Twenty years of Spectre conditioning clocked into overtime, flushing her body with adrenaline. Her awareness hummed like wire as she picked her way back through close packed throngs, forced herself to stay slow and steady. Her peripheral senses picked up four guards marking her, tailing, from the shadows.

_Aria better listen._

She hated nightlife, hated working in it even more. She would have folded in weeks working vice for an outfit like C-Sec. Clubs were peacetime battlefields, cluttered with drunk or drugged civilians, all a cloak for the more poisonous preoccupations of their owners: same old story from one end of the galaxy to the other. Even so, Afterlife was something else. Rounding the central pillar, hot pink surface painted with strobing flesh, Ash couldn't shake the feeling she was stalking into the heart of darkness.

Her stomach knotted tightly, hung somewhere under her breastbone.

Baka still stood sentry beneath Aria's booth, and she felt a sudden impulse to stop – to turn around and race back to the _Mariana. _Sheletit wash over and past her; surrendering to it meant Liara would never be found. At least, not by the Council, and not alive. Charming Aria was out of the question, and though the new evidence she held on her omni gave her something – more than the nothing she had to go on until now - Aria was ancient. Powerful. More than her equal.

It might not be enough.

The yahg gave way as she approached, triangle mouth twisted like a broken sore, and she marched right past. She didn't look back – didn't look at him at all – but his eyes seared between her shoulderblades as she climbed and entered.

Darkened tables flanked the wall to her left; the right was reinforced glass, looking out over the club.

A single figure sat in the centre of a low couch, arms stretched languidly over the back. White jacket, black buckled boots. Her eyes were dark.

Aria flicked her gaze toward the guards at the edge of the room while Ash crossed to stand in front of her.

Everything moved too slowly; Aria was too calm; her senses were hyper-alert.

"Leave us."

A batarian and another human disappeared through the side door. Ash braced her hands on her hips to steady herself.

Aria's voice was the same as she remembered: cold, tempered steel.

"Last time we spoke, Williams, I distinctly recall telling you never to come back. Yet here you are. That is more or less the definition of insanity around these parts."

"I want to be here about as much as you want me to be here. But you had to make things more – complicated."

Aria's mouth compressed into a thin line. "Spill it."

Ash traced the cargo manifests up onto the air in front of her, where they scrolled slowly in the dark space between them. Her mouth tasted of dry sawdust. "You've been sending vast quantities of contraband to Wrex. Eezo, weapons, ships. Year in, year out. That's a capital offense in Council space."

Aria's eyebrow raised slowly. "We're thousands of light years from the righteous arm of Council law. I'm sure you've noticed."

If she was rattled there was no sign. Ash set her own features hard. Past five hundred years, asari were almost impossible to bluff. She had to trust the half-truths mixed in with her front could carry her through.

"Sure. But you're not beyond the reach of Council sanctions here. This evidence is enough to cut off trade and aid to Omega – to the whole god-damned Terminus League. And if anything happens to me on the station now – if your fingerprints are on it – the League _and_ the Council will both get copies of the encryption key in the mail. That's a promise."

Aria tilted her head back. Somehow she was still able to sneer down the length of her nose. "You've got quad. I've always respected that. But did you stop to think that my League partners might _know _about this?"

Ash's laugh was harsh. "Yeah. Bullshit."

"I never kid, Williams." A gloved finger gestured lazily to the blinking rows of blue numbers. "Send that to the Council and you will be personally responsible for starting a war. The League and the Council are both stretched to breaking point. You and I both know neither side can afford it." Her eyes glinted.

"And if you put that data in the hands of my rivals I will personally ensure Tevos locks you up and throws away the key."

"Tevos might be surprised to hear you talk like that."

"More than one Councillor owes me. Face it, Williams: aiding the enemy is not a good look for a Spectre. And I am willing to bet that the first thing they do – _after_ they erase all record of you - is bury that data."

Sweat beaded on Ash's upper lip. The evidence was incendiary enough that Aria might be right. Especially if she could pull strings at Praesidium level. Which she undoubtedly could.

_Shit._

"Now you are going to listen to _me. _I know why you're here, snooping around." She stroked the seat next to her. "And I'm even going to help you. Sit."

"Help me? Sure. That I find hard to believe."

Well, I didn't let you in here to shoot you. I've just had the upholstery cleaned. _Sit._"

A wave of sickness rolled over Ash as the couch gave slightly beneath her armoured bulk. The air around Aria shimmered slightly, quivering like heat haze.

She swallowed hard.

"Good." Aria's mouth curled upward. "Now, my chief of security passed me a very interesting message a few hours ago. I get all sorts – death threats. Extortion. Proposals - business and personal. This one was surprising, concerning a certain disappeared acquaintance."

"You make intercepting routine comms traffic your business?"

"If you've done nothing to piss me off, then you have nothing to fear. But I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. These guys came straight to me. Wet work operatives, working freelance. Human, turian, a drell."

"Local?" Ash doubted it.

"No. Not from Omega. Dumb bastards might be good at killing, but they will rue the day they messed with me. They have no idea who they captured."

"I'm sure you do." Ash folded her arms.

"Liara T'Soni isn't just your average veteran. I'm sure you agree. When I finished the message I traced the signal. My people are good. She's on the station, Williams. Close."

Ash frowned to keep herself from grinning like a fool. "We wouldn't be standing here if you knew where she was."

"Sure we would. But pouting like that won't get me to tell you where she is. Say pretty please."

"Quit fucking with me, Aria."

Ash fought down the urge to squirm under Aria's hard stare.

"Careful. I've killed people for less. But since it's you, I'll make allowances. I've tracked T'Soni to a compound in Kima District. I'm not about to part with more valuable information for free."

The voice lowered to a purr. "So – what is she worth to you?"

Over decades Aria had accumulated money, power and influence Ash could only wonder at; her connection to Commander Shepard, a legend on the station after Aria's reconquest, had cemented her position. Whatever Aria wanted, it wouldn't be bought with credits.

"Maybe I should ask you that question. That manifest was the first taste of the shit she has on you. Your allies, your rivals. Her archives could bring you down. Or the League. She's god-damned dynamite. So why aren't you after her already?"

"Perhaps I am." Aria's voice was smooth.

"Bullshit." Ash squeezed her fingers until her knuckles turned white. "Let's both cut the crap. Evidently we need each other. For now. We just need to agree terms."

Aria paused, nodded curtly. "Agreed. For now. They demanded a pathetically small pile of credits. I'd clear that balance in a heartbeat."

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is the human. Name of Eldon. Enlisted when he was fifteen, back in the War when the Alliance stopped making background checks. Dishonourably discharged in 2194. Shot straight out to the Terminus. Turns out he isn't half as dumb as his big brother implied."

"His brother in the same game?"

"He was. I spaced him a few years back. Pissed me off."

Ash grimaced. "Ouch. Awkward."

"More - inconvenient."

The bass swooshed in Ash's ears, in rhythm with her heartbeat.

"I get it. Eldon wants his brother. A hostage exchange."

"You appreciate the importance of keeping T'Soni alive better than most. Better still, you might still want to. She's too valuable an asset to waste."

"Yeah," she murmured. The word felt like a betrayal.

"Okay, Williams - listen to me." The asari folded her arms. "If I give you her location, l want access. The Council will want a piece of her, but I want mine first. And no other League involvement. I want her exclusively."

Yet again, the perception of choice was bullshit.

"I want guaranteed safe passage for T'Soni and the _Mariana _back through the Sahrabarik relay inside seventy-two hours of recovery. Assuming she's conscious for questioning or we can clone her greybox – if she has one."

Aria narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly. Behind her, flesh writhed in glass cases. It left Ash cold.

"Deal."

"Pleasure doing business with you." She stood. Despite the bargain she struck, she felt lighter. Determined. She could do this.

"Ping the location to my omni. I'll be going."

She couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched. The skin on the back of her neck crawled; her hind-brain shrieked out an alarm.

_Of course you're being watched. I bet Aria's never alone. _

"Not so fast, Williams. Spectres might work alone, but I've never been prepared to let you fly solo."

_And now - the catch. _

"So let me unlock my boat. I can bring my squad ashore in under an hour."

Aria smiled now; she scented blood in the water. "And stack the odds in your favour? I don't think so. No more Council. No Alliance."

Dread plunged to the pit of Ash's stomach. She shook her head violently from side to side.

"No. No _way_ are you coming with me."

Aria laughed. "Of course not. You think _I'm_ prepared to do the heavy lifting?"

The air around them changed, crackling; electrical sparks popped and streaked in the air. With a burst of irrational fury, Ash realised the bitch had been ahead of her all along. Someone had been watching, and now they were decloaking.

She wheeled about to face the back of the room. A cowled figure materialised from the dark, no more than a few feet away. She'd been out-manoeuvred, but Ash sure as hell refused to be ambushed and outgunned. One hand snapped to the hilt of her Carnifex.

_Fuck –_

It was gone.

A rasping voice laughed from beneath the hood.

"Hey there."

The woman wore a smug smirk. Her frame was slight. Ash recognised the thick pink stripe across her lower lip and chin, the pale skin, still couldn't place her. Dark eyes glittered from beneath the hood as she stepped back, dangling Ash's pistol teasingly from a curled index finger.

"A-ah-ah, Ash. No shooting. But I'm sorry to shock you like that. I like to make an impression."

The muscles in her arms bunched solid with the urge to grab the woman by the neck.

"Think this is some kind of god-damned joke?" she growled.

"Certainly not. Rescuing the Shadow Broker – could anything be more serious? I can't wait."

There was an uncharacteristic note of amusement in Aria's voice.

"Allow me to introduce my chief of security – Kasumi Goto."

The woman bobbed briskly from the waist. "Good to see you again. It's been much too long."

"A long time," Ash agreed. She was dumbfounded. They couldn't have met on more than a handful of occasions. She fought for Shepard on the Omega 4 mission, back when Ash had been working frontier postings in the Terminus, and worked on the Crucible. Beyond that, Ash had given Kasumi a wide berth.

Starting out, she'd naively believed there was no need to get acquainted with a master thief in her line of work. Now, she'd learned to use the right tools for the job.

Aria leaned back. Ash nearly hit the ceiling when Kasumi appeared, but the asari had barely moved; she still reclined casually on the couch.

"Goto is going with you. You'll find her talents useful. She knows Omega almost as well as I do."

Ash glanced at Kasumi. "I don't need babysitting. No offense."

"Kasumi is my insurance policy. You need to pay out. Use her. Or would you prefer Baka as a partner?" Aria stretched. "Besides, Williams. She already got the drop on you."

_The bitch will never allow me to forget it. _

She glanced down at the yahg, over Aria's shoulder. He was parting revellers like a boulder on the dancefloor, pushing toward a knife fight broken out on the bar. The mission would be over before it began – if they didn't kill each other in the club. Yahg were notorious for ignoring authority.

She checked the ammo in the Carnifex, holstered it reflexively, and sized up the other human next to her. Kasumi was fully armed, ready for action, just like she was. Eager, even.

Ash wondered when she had last been asked to break into something, not keep others out.

"As long as you can follow orders, Kasumi, we should be fine."

The woman straightened, hands balled at her sides. "Yes, Ma'am. Absolutely. Ready to go when you are."

Ash hoped to God she was right.

* * *

**A/N: **Breitve, this one's for you!

And now, normal service should resume. Sorry for the long delay between chapters; Chapter 6 should be out sooner. As ever, any comments and/or feedback very welcome!

And a huge thank you to **HugoCogs, **who has spent lots of time reading this and providing pointers and encouragement. I am very grateful for the support.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_The kid arrives five months after their honeymoon, three weeks early. James bends every reg to jump from Voyager to Arcturus in record time, but it still makes no odds. Her sister's there first._

_He can't do anything without screwing it up._

_The shuttle plunges down through an ice storm toward the hospital roof, red lights of the pad blinking against a swirl of colony lamps. James swigs whiskey from a hip flask. He'll wet the kids head with the rest. Howling white wind whips against exposed skin as he throws himself toward the door. His face stings, burns._

_He charges through wards lulled by night. There are murmured voices, mellow lights; James's clattering boots shatter the silence. _ _Lynn's curled up on a bench outside the door._

_Ash is barely awake, her hair scraped back in a lank ponytail. She smiles sloppily at him, propped on crisp white pillows. James stops dead like he's hit an invisible wall. He isnt ready. He forces his feet forward. Terror and excitement and love churn together as he bends to kiss her. She kisses him back, overripe but he doesn't care. She twines her hand in his and he squeezes, once._

_You're officially on Lynn's shit-list, she slurs. Her eyes shine. They fix on his._

_Long as I'm not on yours, cariña. I'm so sorry._

_She blows a strand of sweaty hair from her face. Not your fault. Blame him._

_Ash nods toward the far side of her bed. James sees tiny, birdlike breaths; a mat of spiky black hair tucked beneath a knitted cap. So small. He's doesn't want to touch, there's still flecks of snow melting in his hair but Ash waves him across. She wears her patented cut-the-bullshit stare until James bends to the cot, breath stuck in his throat, scoops the bundle up. His ankle-tag reads KAIDAN EMILIO VEGA._

_Feels like Alenko traded places with me somehow, she explains. Switched fates. Just wanted to pay my dues. Does that even make sense? Her voice is distant. Like she's speaking from a dream._

_He has his daddy's mouth. His face is still creased and swollen and he's the most beautiful thing James has ever seen. The universe stops; shrinks, until its just him and the baby cradled in his arms. He falls into the eye of the storm. Around him the old world is swept away, forever. He doesn't notice; doesn't care._

_He is a father. This is his son. His. There are no words; James knows it in his bones, his balls, his blood. Every cell, every code in his body is rewritten in the blink of an eye. The boy is new and he's renewed, because of him. Its a brand on his heart. Joy beyond the world fills him up; love like he's never felt crashes into him, breathes life into the new bond. It's unbreakable. _

_Kaidan yawns in his sleep. He'll be the best father there is. _

_Sure does, he breathes. _

_But Ash is asleep._

* * *

James drifted.

He hung in the space between, dreaming without sleeping.

Liquid dark eyes stared down at him. Those eyes belonged to another world. Whether memory or reality didn't matter.

If she was here, he was safe.

_You're fine, machote. Get your ass off the floor._

He tried. His mind could move, but he was locked out of his body. The voice became critical.

_Move, marine. Now._

Then she was gone, and a new pair of eyes peered into his, milky and luminous like marble. Affectionate.

_You're strong. You can do it. James – wake up._

He didn't want to. He wanted to stay with that voice.

_Abre tus ojos, James –_

Claws, dragging him. Almond eyes were replaced by a reptilian pair. Hostile.

He realised he could feel earth at his back.

He blinked.

Once.

Again.

The third time, James forced his eyes open by supreme force of will. All he saw was dull grey. He tasted bile in his mouth. And grit. He slid his tongue over the roof of his mouth, and it was dry.

_Sand._

His fingertips on one side were buried in it, damp and cool. His muscles spasmed angrily, but he pulled his hand up in front of his face and forced his eyes to focus until he could make out the grooves laced across his palm. The mound of his thumb was a single stinging, red weal.

_Must be pumped full of meds._

The wash of grey he woke up to was now cracked and grainy. Bright white light bled into his vision, from somewhere to the right.

James planted his hand on the ground, tried to push himself up. Pain screeched at him from along his left flank. It felt faint, like it was happening to someone else. He lurched upright and instantly regretted it, twisting sideways and heaving sour vomit onto the sand. The sound of his retching bounced off concrete.

It left a foul-smelling stain, but he immediately felt clearer. If not exactly stronger.

He was sat in a large pipe, curved sides vaulting away from him, silted with a shallow layer of dirty sand. Large enough for a human to stand in, but too small for a krogan. Scraps of garbage - metal and multi-coloured plastic – collected in drifts along the sides. His helmet lay at his feet. An ache clawed down his back as he craned his head to the right.

_Shit._

Another marine had been dropped next to him, helmet placed, like his, at her feet, and with one glove removed, like him. Crusted blood trickled from one side of her mouth. James rolled slowly onto his knees next to her, ignoring the pain sluicing through his hips and kneecaps. Her lips were bluish, skin sallow and waxy. He felt nothing on his cheek when he lowered himself to check her breathing.

The lifeless eyes of the officer from the hangar bay stared back at him.

He reached inside her neckline for her tags, found none. No-one carried tags for an op like this. He struggled to remember her name. He should know it. He was stupid and he let her down. _Fuck it._ His eyes felt hot and itchy as he pulled his helmet back on and adjusted his suit seals with his good hand.

_Migs would know her name. If he's still alive._

She carried no weapons. He patted himself down, but was not surprised to find only the bowie knife strapped to his boot, and no sidearm. They had both been brought here, stripped, then abandoned - discarded like useless work animals. Left as prey for varren or klixen or worse.

_This is Tuchanka. Death planet. Everything wants to kill you._

His sluggish heartbeat slammed into high gear, so fast the world span. He was FUBAR'ed. Staying with a piece of rotting carrion was not an option. The omni on his wrist only crackled weakly when he tried to activate it, lights sputtering before fizzling out. Comms were shot. He was flying blind. On the bright side, his world collapsed into just two choices.

_Crawl further into the pipe without a torch, or walk into hell outside._

The mouth of the pipe was only a short distance, but the journey hurt. Crawling into darkness was insane; at least he'd see whatever killed him in the daylight. The opening was partially covered over by a sheet of corrugated metal. Light still burned his eyes. He was about to push the cover away but stopped when saw a set of letters, chalked awkwardly across the concrete.

_HOSPITAL - 250M N._

_WAIT FOR YOU UNTIL MID-DAY._

_ROOF. SD. _

So his instincts were right – it had been Sedna. _Treacherous puta._ No wonder other species distrusted krogan. Other races did not leave squadmates behind to die. Krogan didn't give a shit. His jaw clenched.

He toyed with idea of finding a ship and heading off planet. But as far he knew right now, nothing had changed: Wrex was still under siege, and Wrex was still their only hope. His SA creed, military muscle memory, whispered from some crevice in his brain.

_I will never accept defeat. I will never quit. I will never leave a fallen comrade. God damn it._

He slid the sheet aside as carefully and quietly as he could, looked around. The distant rumble of shells exploding came from somewhere behind; the staccato chatter of assault rifle fire and the clatter of rock falls was closer, but not close enough to be a hazard. The immediate surroundings were deserted.

James pulled himself upright using the lip of the pipe, folding his injured arm across his chest. Aside from the arm, heavy burns on one side of his face, and the crushing top-to-bottom ache that felt like he'd spent the night churning in a cement mixer, he was miraculously unscathed. Or at least the drugs pumping through his veins were telling him so. He loped up a dirt escarpment, snuck between two buildings.

_Sedna better hope I don't find a gun before I find her. _

He found the road almost immediately. It ran north-south, wide enough to let two tomkahs pass each other easily. Both sides were lined with tall buildings, several storeys high and all built with monumental blocks of ochre stone. Despite his bulk he felt miniature, like a toy. Some looked like houses; others, kiosks visible behind smashed glass-fronts, had been stores. Weapons, high end clothes, jewellery – every single one he passed had been picked clean, either by militants or looters or both. Aralakh was high in a rust-coloured sky.

It was hot and he was grateful for his helmet: burns would glow like a bitch under intense desert sun. This had been a pricey part of a poor city. Just his luck to crash in Urdnot City's version of Bel Air. An occasional moan drifted down from the upper levels: there were krogan in the vicinity, but there was no-one in the streets. Shards of glass, paper, broken electronics, and rubble carpeted the ground.

Whatever violence had swept through was past.

_When the revolution comes, folks like these get hit first. _

Without a rifle, James couldn't be too cautious. He clung to the sides, walking north. One leg dragged slightly. He looked up to see one building towering twice as high as the rest, a quarter-click away.

_That must be the place. Strange._

It was built like a fortress, with thick walls and slit windows. If it was a hospital, it was keen not to advertise, even in a plush neighbourhood like this.

_Maybe especially in a neighbourhood like this._

Up ahead, a burned out Mako had slammed drunkenly into the side of a house, burning carbonized skidmarks along the asphalt. He'd reach it in a minute. He stopped and backed flat against the wall, scanning for movement; saw none. Smoke still poured from under the hubcaps and the engine but the crash must have happened a while back. Squinting, he looked closer and spotted several krogan corpses, scattered haphazard across the road. A charred claw hung limply from a door.

Panic gripped him. James gasped for breath, iron belts tightening around his chest, heart stop-starting. Seeing Grunt in the sanitised bowels of a Navy ship was different. This was a war zone. Bile hit the back of his throat; he fought the urge to hurl inside his helmet.

He sank into a crouch, eyes squeezed shut.

_You were always gonna see this. Not your fault. Not your doing. You're here to help._

Ashley's voice, hard and mocking. _Quit while you're ahead, coward. Sure there's a transport off this rock for deadbeats like you._

He breathed steadily: in through flared nostrils, out through his mouth. The fear wasn't real. The voice wasn't real. The street was real. And he needed to get to the hospital before Sedna left.

He creaked upright, upped the pace, straight to the Mako, forced himself to look. These bodies wore no armour. Most likely they lived here. None of them could be called delicate but their unprotected bodies were smaller, almost scrawny, in death. Sulfur-yellow blood pooled around one and stained the clothes of another. The stench of the bodies in the desert sun would be unforgettable. It was blocked by the helmet, but once smelled at close quarters, it never left.

He rounded the vehicle, checking the ground for weapons, and walked on. The entrance to the hospital was splayed wide open, cracked glass doorways like broken teeth. The security station outside was empty, the body of a young krogan in cheap armour sagging out of the checking window. His plates were soft and unfused. Whoever killed him had tried to chisel them away from his head but didn't succeed. Claiming rival clan plates was a primitive custom. Outlawed.

_That's a damn child. There's the reason we keep 'em cooped up behind the Widow relay. Right there. _

James told himself he didn't really feel those things. Just the shock talking. Except it wasn't: not all of it, anyway. The same revulsion he felt on Baghatur bubbled darkly from somewhere buried. He forced it down with guilt. He thought of Kaidan, scarred and burned and lying in Lawson's hospital bed. He thought of Naya and Bashir. They would be fine. This kid wouldn't.

He wondered if the kid had a father. Most didn't anymore but some stuck around - if their mating was a love match. Rare for krogan. If they were rich. Or high profile. Wrex had sired an entire tribe of stuck up princelings by himself. The cure screwed a lot of stuff up.

James picked up an ID disc from the floor beneath the corpse's head, slotted it into his empty utility belt. He stepped inside.

The hospital had been ransacked; empty blister packs and hypospray injectors littered the floor, and a tangle of upturned medical gurneys blocked the lobby. Lights were down. He had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could make out the room, long and low - by krogan standards - and dark. The building was ancient. Broken track lights flickered blue on the wall, nowhere near enough to light the murk. He counted maybe a dozen bodies as he started to traverse the floor. He stepped softly, like walking through a minefield.

Patients had been gunned down as they fled or where they lay. Two armoured krogan slumped against a wall at the foot of a long smear of blood. One's face had been turned to pulp. Most likely a shotgun blast. The hilt of a knife had been planted in the other's face. There was a trio of asari mercs, butchered and from the look of it violated, crumpled on the floor behind the welcome desk. One of them gripped an ancient Stinger IX and James took it, sickened. It was coated in blue blood but the pistol could be decent if it still fired.

He recognised several clan markings among the casualties. Drau. Jorgal. Urdnot. And another, a black star on a silver circle. It was daubed on the walls as well as some of the dead. James guessed Gocek. Tarkan's tribe. Slogans and graffiti had been daubed onto the walls in krogan script. James was rusty, but the ones he could decipher without his omni were chilling.

_Tarkan Will Lead Us to Victory. Death to Wrex – Council Whore. A Terminus Empire For All Krogan. _

Not the first time he'd seen a krogan power struggle slide into mindless slaughter. But this was much worse than Baghatur.

_This isn't some backwater colony. This is full blown civil war. _

The word _ELEVATOR _shone at the end of the room in bright white letters. Backup generators must still be working. If he got stuck he'd be baked alive - but it beat climbing twenty floors of a deserted deathtrap. Not by much. The room darkened the further he pushed into it, pistol raised.

His gut coiled. Stealth was never his strong suit. Every step cracked loud. There was no sign of survivors but he couldn't take chances. There could be crazies. Mercs. Militants.

There was no sound except his footsteps and the rasp of his breathing in his helmet.

_Shit. _

Thirty metres.

Twenty five.

Twenty.

Glass ampoules shattered under his boot. In the dark, it sounded loud like a window shattering. His lips peeled back from his teeth and he froze, heart thudding.

When he set off again, he shuffled. Slow. He could barely see his feet now. He couldn't afford another fuckup.

He covered the final ten metres double-quick and jabbed at the doors urgently, hair standing on the back of his neck.

He could feel eyes on him. He was injured and alone. The wait before it opened was forever; as the they slid shut behind him he moaned in relief. He checked the barrel of the Stinger. Breathed.

_Youre giving yourself the fucking jitters, marine. Pull yourself together._

The doors opened onto searing sunlight, bleaching out everything in his vision. Squinting, he made out out a krogan facing away from him on the far side of the roof, looking out over the city. The figure was tall and sturdy and held a Striker rifle in one hand. She didn't turn, but James knew she was aware of him.

He called out.

"How about I put a round in your spine, Sedna? That sounds about right."

She turned as he crossed the shuttle pad. Dust and sand swirled about them, over the floor and off the lip of the roof, pushed by dry desert wind. Livid yellow pustules covered the side of Sedna's face like poisonous slugs. She'd been burned like he was but made no attempt to cover up. When she spoke she was calm.

"You need Wrex. I need Wrex. And you need me if you plan to live longer than a few hours in this place."

She was right. He needed Sedna and she didn't need him. His stock crashed when the _Manta _did. He'd switched from an asset to a liability. Somehow it wasn't enough to stop him. He raised the pistol, felt like a fool. Rage boiled like acid in his blood.

"Worked out I was surplus to requirements, huh? That why you abandon us?"

Sedna said nothing; instead she narrowed her eyes against the glare, and turned back to the view.

"Heartless, dishonorable bitch. Knew I shouldn't have trusted you."

Sedna whirled, fast, and snarled, snapping an electric blue mnemonic into the air. The Stinger flew from his fingers. James shivered, suddenly cold.

_She could have blasted me off the roof. But - she didn't.  
_

"I do not care what you believe, human. Just remember that someone pulled you from the _Manta._"

He stood down, holding his hands open at his sides as the last of her biotics disappeared.

"Yeah. So why leave?"

"You must have mods. The female did not."

James was nettled. She wasn't making sense. "Stop playing games."

Sedna peered at him. "Time spent cowering in a drain would be pointless. A waste. Wrex does not have the luxury of time. There was no guarantee you would ever come around."

"Still a low thing to do. Not the way you win a war."

_Except she never has_, she realised. _She's an apprentice. All her combat experience has all been in the drill hall. She can't go it alone any more than I can. _

"I don't want your loyalty. I thought you, of all humans, would understand. This is not a game, Admiral. I am not interested in playing one." She slapped the rifle onto her back and removed a dull metallic band from beneath her gauntlets.

She held it out; he took it warily. For the first time, James looked at her and saw a youth.

"It's a good omnitool. Customised with a combat drone programme and an upgraded incinerate function. Also an omniblade. The asari in the lobby no longer has need of it. You can take it until we find better firepower for you."

James knew a peace offering when he saw it, though Sedna would die before losing face. She still didn't get it. He grunted while he wrapped the omni around his wrist, orange light flaring around his hand before fading. It wasn't a Claymore, but it helped him feel less exposed.

He moved to the edge of the roof, bent to retrieve the Stinger where it had skittered to rest. Sedna drew in next to him.

Patches of clear sky were disappearing under a cowl of thick reddish cloud. Half the city was overcast; the rest would soon follow, including the hospital. Scribbles of smoke, too many to count, rose from blackened buildings, merged into haze; a huge swathe of fire had overtaken the south of the city. Taller buildings clustered around the Ziggurat; islands in a sea of jerrybuilt shacks, different sizes and colours, built from salvage or rubble or mudbrick or whatever else the inhabitants could scavenge. Roofs were corrugated iron or cement covered over with rags to provide shelter from the sun.

_Shanties always look the same - wherever you go._

Further south, beyond the wall of fire, sandclouds were mixing with billowing smoke. The bang-boom-chatter of war was mostly missing up here, lost in the wind.

"We are in Jemdet," Sedna said. "The Ziggurat is twelve clicks to the east -" she pointed one gloved claw left to what looked like a black mountain, wreathed in smog- "and the spaceport is ten clicks west. There is fighting all along the main highway linking them both."

"So we can't march up to the front door of either."

"Obviously."

"Is Wrex still at the Ziggurat?" James shielded his eyes with his hand.

"Your omni is short range. It only has low grade encryption. The hospital is a good vantage point, but its QEC was vandalised."

"Right. So he could be anywhere by now."

"He can't have reached the spaceport. They're holding it against a horde. Urdnot wouldn't commit so many warriors there if Wrex had already escaped."

That made sense. James heard the boom of a missile hit somewhere close, then the rumble of falling rock. "Where are the main fronts?"

"The entire city is a front. Clan Gocek is throwing thousands of fighters at the spaceport. How much longer they can hold out is impossible to say. More warriors are swearing fealty to Tarkan as he cuts through the city. There are several areas of intense fighting between here and the Ziggurat. There and -" she pointed - "there."

A crimson fireball bloomed from distant buildings, close to the foot of the pyramid. It looked insubstantial from the roof, even pretty. Close in it would be big enough to immolate an entire city block. James looked at Sedna; she nodded gravely.

"Yes. They're nearly at the base."

"Where are we gonna find a QEC?" he asked. "That's where we should move next."

Sedna scanned the cityscape for a long moment. Finally, she gestured toward a flat, distant building to the left, nestled amongst a patchwork of smaller, makeshift roofs.

"The headquarters of the Interplanetary Disasters Emergency Corps. IDEC. The asari and volus dispense food and medical aid in the slums. They're well-meaning pests, but they'll have a QEC."

"We should give it a wide berth if it's a distribution centre. It'll be a target."

"It isn't. Just their administrative function. We shouldn't have a problem. Once we get there, anyway."

"Problems on the route?"

Sedna's lips peeled back into a bizarre, mirthless grin. "Timna and Mefesh were off limits before all this started."

"Help me out here. They people or places?"

"Timna is a warehouse zone. Most of Tuchanka's black market goods start out there. Weapons. Ryncol. Red sand. It's a magnet for gangs. Mefesh - " James saw a tight-packed sprawl of makeshift shanties, rougher-looking than the rest - "is the source of its labour supply. It is also the city's most notorious slum. However, there's an Urdnot garrison in Timna."

"Reinforcements. Good. We have a plan. Picture keeps getting better all the time, kid."

She threw him a sharp look. Before she could answer, James felt the floor rumble beneath his feet, vibrations shaking up his legs. Something major had gone up nearby. Too close. They had to move again, quickly. James turned back toward the elevator; its lights were out.

_Guess we'll be taking the stairs. _

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you to **HugoCogs **for their advice and support on transforming this chapter from what was initially a bit... strange to something tenable. And thanks also to **Owelpost **for their lovely encouragement. And thanks everyone continuing to read this story! Hope you continue to enjoy it - if you are, I am!


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